The Two Harrys
by spescontramundum
Summary: Magic can be a bit... perverse sometimes. It's not really "into" checking all the boxes and fulfilling all those petty prophecies... and one Harry's as just good as another. Right? Of course right. -Dresden vs. Voldemort. Potter vs. the universe. (And yes: the title is a reference to The Two Ronnies.)
1. Ch 1 - Contrariwise (Dresden & Potter)

Harry blinked.

It didn't _look_ like he was at the Weasley's. Or at Privet Drive... and he was pretty sure that the Malfoys would have signed over their fortune before decorating their living room in the fiercely clashing reds, oranges and browns that surrounded him. It was like a shrine to the Chudley Cannons. A really dyspeptic shrine. In fact, he was pretty sure that even Mrs. Weasley would never allow that sort of thing in the Burrow.

There was also a very large grey cat who sat on the nearby couch watching him suspiciously. That was a little reassuring. Somehow he didn't think that Voldemort was a cat person. Or a dog person. He seemed pretty much exclusively into snakes and things that liked to take large chunks out of people.

There was a solid, certain pair of knocks on the door and a woman said: "Harry? Did your phone blow up again? I thought you got a new one. I mean an _old_ one. A new old one, that wouldn't do that."

Harry was pretty sure he didn't have a phone? Also, no American friends, and that was definitely an American accent. And no wand. No clothes either. But standing in the middle of a stranger's living room completely starkers didn't really have as much impact on him as he would have thought. _Huh_.

" _Harry_." the woman was starting to sound really annoyed. There was a half-open hatch in the middle of the floor -which seemed to be normally hidden under one of the slime-mold colored rugs - which was starting to look _very_ tempting. _Think Harry, think._ This was the point where Hermione explained everything and Ron came up with a daring plan. Except...

 _Except_.

"Dammit Harry." the woman sighed and then came a series of round, booming knocks that resounded throughout the room "Do I have to break down the door?"

 _Pants_. He needed pants. It was unlikely that he'd find a wand lying around somewhere, but he could at least find pants.

Pants would probably be in a bedroom. Where was the bedroom though? He headed away from the front door, towards what appeared to be the bedroom. The place was quite small really. At least he wouldn't get lost...

"Harry! I don't have time for this shit. You can't just leave me cryptic messages about fairies and the undead and then _not_ _answer_ my calls." the woman's voice lowered to a growl.

Then Harry heard the unmistakable sound of a lock being picked. He felt his heart thud against the inside of his chest a single time, like a boot dropping to the floor. He was an _idiot_. Because _of course_ things could always get worse. He jumped down the hatch, hoping that it didn't simply go one forever. That could happen right? _No_ , _what was wrong with him, that was from a book, had he hit his head...?_

...and then promptly crumpled on the basement floor, rolling until he crashed into something. Something like a bookcase which held a large number of very heavy books. Which _hurt_. They also, he noticed, made a lot of noise.

A pair of odd, glowing lights appeared in the middle of the darkness, only throwing light forward, though Harry couldn't quite make out what was behind them. There was a delicate cough from the general direction of the lights. "And _who_ , might I ask, are _you_?"

Harry was pretty sure his heart had simply stopped.

* * *

"Harry. Wake. Up." I heard this loud thudding noise. Like Mister was picking his hulking frame up and flopping it down on the floor. Repeatedly. It made my head rattle.

"Harry." I could almost _hear_ whoever it was propping their hands on their hips. "Harry, come _on_!"

I was still exhausted from the day before, and I'm never a morning person. Well. I'm not really an afternoon or evening person either, but that's not the point. I rolled over, and began to snore loudly.

"Harry." Then I noticed it was a girl's voice. Not girl, as in female. Girl as in woman-child.

"That's not funny. Come on you two." her voice went even higher in pitch (if that were even possible).

Two? My sleep-high brain paused at that.

"Ron!" Another girl's voice joined hers: " _Ronald_ , Harry. Mrs. Weasley said that breakfast is ready and to come get it before the twins _put_ something in it."

That was when I began to panic. Because I, Harry Dresden, have only ever known (of) one Ronald. And he's very dead. Not _mostly dead_. Completely, totally, irrevocably, _very_ Dead.

Or... perhaps not. If Ronald Reuel, former Knight of Summer, was involved... maybe I hadn't been so far off with the necromancer hypothesis yesterday? A few missing bodies weren't as unusual as I'd like, but corpse roads popping up in the middle of Chicago… well that doesn't happen every day. It's never a good sign either. (Not that you'd know it from how charming the name is, right?) And -despite my cozy relationship with my fairy godmother, and the fact that I jaunt off to the Nevernever so often that you'd think it's my summer home in Florida- corpse roads are a bit obscure, even for me. I'd had to haul out the Big Books and ask Bob, my handy-dandy spirit of intellect, about them.

It's complicated too, because fairies and necromancers have always fought over the same turf. (Pun intended.) Corpse roads, or 'lych-ways' (as some pedantic hedge witches like to call them), are basically roads from the Nevernever, faerie roads that have crossed over into our world, usually because they've had some contact with death energy. Not portals, _no_ , because that would be too easy. Portals, you see, can be closed. Lych-ways though... once they're there, they're just There. Almost like ley lines. Except any poor soul with the least little bit of magic can wander onto one of them. And then, _bam!,_ lions and tigers and fairies. Anyhow. Usually the source of that energy is either a fresh corpse (which almost never happens in modern times, because, you know, embalming, _yech_...), or improperly designed burial grounds...

But I digress, because those were the first things I checked, and… no dice. Well, I checked what I could; there were no new, badly planned cemeteries at least. And for half a dozen corpse roads… that's an awful lot of fresh dead bodies. Just one usually isn't enough. Though, thinking about it, I wouldn't put it past Johnny Marcone. The king of the Chicago criminal underworld could probably get ahold of some fresh dead bodies by literally snapping his fingers. In fact, Marcone or one of the supernatural bigwigs getting behind them would be pretty much the only way that your average necromancer could survive in Chicago. Most practitioners will run screaming for a Warden if they get even the vaguest whiff of necromancy.

If fairies were involved though… the oldest queens of Summer and Winter had some serious power to throw around. I'd seen that much in the battle over Chicago last year. But Ronald Reuel wouldn't have been my first choice if I had the ability to resurrect the dead. Then again, I'm neither an insane fairy nor a megalomaniacal necromancer so perhaps I'm just not good at getting into the mindset.

Anyway, suffice it to say that I was thoroughly confused.

I don't like being confused. Bad things happen when I'm confused. Things tend to get set on fire.

"Harry." the door creaked open at the exact same moment that I opened my eyes.

There were, as I had realized before, two girls. Only one of them screamed.

"Mum!" and her red hair went flying behind her as she ran down the stairs.

The other one, a tiny scraggly-looking brunette, immediately whipped out a very thin, very pointy-looking stick. "Don't. _Move_." she said, in a dangerously level voice that reminded me of a littler English Murphy, except it was even more frightening coming from someone so small and so young.

From the way she was pointing the stick at me, it seemed that it was a focus of some sort. Or at least it was dangerous. I decided to be discreet and call it valor.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I said, in as jaunty a tone as I could manage. Which is difficult when you wake up on a different continent with no idea of what went wrong. But that's how I roll. All _Childe Roland_ and shit.

Despite my winsome manner, she apparently didn't believe me. Because she said " _Incarcerous_ " and I found myself suddenly tied up and trussed as neatly as a rotisserie chicken.

 _Well_ , that was interesting, I thought. And said so.

She looked very pale, but did not reply. She kept her arm out and her eyes on me, blinking rapidly. The weird thing was that she didn't look like an American high school student. Maybe it was just because she was English. I've met English wizards, and they always seemed more self-possessed. She also had this brownish Einstein hair. I guess that gave her a kind of presence too.

"Well, this is awkward. I guess I wasn't the Harry you were expecting." I said at last. It fell a little flat.

She was avoiding my gaze, which wasn't surprising, as I didn't particularly care for a soulgaze either. But considering that I had woken up in a complete stranger's house... I couldn't think of many other ways to both convince them that I wasn't insane, and also make sure that they weren't going to kill me. Well. I wasn't sure about the first one, but I figured I could go for one out of two.

I heard a loud snore to my right and looked over automatically, before I remembered that she had the probably-a-weapon trained on me. The kid was a redhead, dressed in violently orange pajamas. I looked back at her. A short, dumpy woman with orange hair like a wind-beaten haystack came charging up the stairs. "What…" she trailed off when she saw me.

She sighed. " _Fred_! _George_! They put you up to this didn't they Harry? I thought I'd dumped all their Polyjuice."

"Ah. Ma'am..." I found that I couldn't think of what to say. I knew that asking what "Polly-juice" was was probably a bad idea though. "I am just as confused as you are, believe me. So handcuff me or whatever will make you feel more comfortable, and…."

"Harry…?" she put a hand to her chest, and looked at the brown-haired girl, who shook her head slowly.

"Oh… oh my, but how did you... then how you did you get past the wards?" the older woman wrung her hands, clearly not speaking to me anymore.

...but that was actually a very good question. How had I gotten past the wards? Unless someone had carried me in...

Suddenly a hairy red arm hit me in the face. I heard a shriek, saw a flash of red light, and then nothing.


	2. Ch 2 - Like himself (Potter)

**Author's Note:** I had to rewrite the first chapter (to, y'know, add some foreshadowing and the foundation for an actual _plot_.) So you may want to go back and look it over. Sorry about that.

Also, I'm posting this a chapter at a time (and I'm usually more of a 'plot the story, write it, delete it, write it again, edit obsessively, and then post when it's entirely, completely finished' sort of gal) so if you spot any glaring typos, factual errors, or plot holes that you could drive a truck through, drop me a line. Metaphorically speaking.

* * *

Harry jumped as he heard the front door open. Naturally, he'd been too busy trying to give himself a concussion to manage to shut the basement (it _was_ a basement, he'd realized belatedly) hatch behind him... Which meant that any moment the person, woman - and here his mind helpfully provided him with a picture of an irate McGonagall snapping his wand - would be coming after him. It was still dark too.

Fantastic. Bloody effing _fantastic_.

"It's rather dark in here…" the lights mused "...and then he said, let there be _light_!" Which made the fluorescents overhead flare, turning the room a bright, violent grey "...and there _was_ light. _Oh_ _my._ What _do_ we have here?"

It was a skull.

Harry blinked. It was a skull and it was _talking_. That wasn't normal even in the wizarding world. Harry grabbed a huge, brick-like book from the cluttered desk and made to drop it on the skull.

"Hey!" the skull exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing!? I'm _priceless._ Not to mention Harry will kill you, not with magic of course, but…" the skull prattled on about some sort of "laws" and a White Council and things that Harry was really too distracted to analyze at that particular moment. It, whatever 'it' was, apparently rambled when nervous.

Harry chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Not _everything_ was Riddle's diary. There were mirrors that were charmed to talk. Right. He was just being silly. Portraits were harmless… perhaps the skull could even be some sort of magical directory that could tell him where he was and what was going on… would that be too much to ask?

 _Probably_. Harry sighed to himself. Probably.

"Look, can we at least _talk_ about this…" the skull began.

Harry looked up sharply. "Wait, you said _Harry_ …"

Harry didn't believe in coincidence. (Neither did the other Harry, though of course he had no way of knowing that.)

He could have sworn that the skull rolled its… lights. "Harry Dresden. Wizard? About two feet taller than you? Always going on about righteousness and justice and the value of honesty or something like that… no? Alright, well, I'm Bob. Not really, but I wouldn't give you my real name and you couldn't pronounce it anyway…"

"Er…" Harry might have come up with something a little more eloquent but he'd suddenly heard boots thumping over the floor.

"Harry! I… damn you, if you're down there and not dead I'm going to kill you…" the speaker froze at the top of the hatch, and Harry whipped around, using the grimoire as an emergency loincloth.

The woman was very short - shorter than Harry. She had a doll-curly blonde hair and she looked like she was ready to spit actual venom. She'd also pulled a gun out with genuinely frightening speed. So he was going to assume she was muggle. But, as he didn't have a wand, that didn't really make her any less dangerous now, did it?

"Where's Harry?" she said, softly, not quite suspicious…

Harry blinked. Why _wasn't_ she more suspicious?

The skull's lights flashed with what Harry could only assume was amusement. "Apologies, Karrin" she glared "...sorry _Lieutenant_ Murphy, ah Harry and I were up early _experimenting..._ " could a skull _leer_? Harry wondered "... and, well, things didn't go exactly as planned, and Harry was just going to run up and get some jeans on. He should be back to normal… well, we're not exactly sure..."

"Not. Happening." the woman who was apparently 'Lieutenant Murphy' said shortly. "I don't know what's going on, but Harry left me some panicky message about fairies and zombies and god knows _what_ else…. and now a there's a complete stranger, that no one told me _anything_ _about_ , hanging out at Harry's house." She paused. "Not wearing any pants."

Harry closed his eyes and willed himself not to turn any pinker. Really, he _needed_ to get his priorities straight. In the grand scheme of things this was _not_ something he needed to worry about. Actually, it really wasn't that bad; this woman didn't seem hostile, and he'd been in far more dangerous situations. Never any quite this embarrassing though. He could imagine more embarrassing situations, he was sure. But they temporarily escaped him.

Karrin, _Lieutenant_ , Murphy blinked. "Are you _related_ to Harry?"

Harry was running through the possible responses trying to find any that made any sense. There weren't any.

This muggle might be friendly, she might not.

She might shoot him, she might not.

She might know about magic, she might not.

Harry shot a glance towards 'Bob the Skull.' She hadn't shot it. And she seemed to know how to really _use_ a gun. Alright, so, probably, she did know about magic.

Harry cleared his throat, still trying to think of what to say. "Er, probably not?"

'Lieutenant' Murphy raised an eyebrow.

"Look…" Harry was at a complete loss. What could he tell this woman to get her to trust him, when he didn't trust her? When he didn't even have any answers to give her? He felt his shoulders slump. "I… have no idea what's going on."

Still, he reminded himself, no one had thrown any curses at him yet, so it was a good day, all things considered. There was a thought; did Voldemort even have a following in America? He had no idea. One of those things that Binns could have been teaching them...

The little blonde woman cracked a wry smile. "Well, I'm pretty sure a demon summoned from the depths of hell wouldn't be so embarrassed about not wearing any pants."

Harry flushed a red that would make any true Gryffindor proud. Not that he was exactly sure what the whole "demon" bit was about, but he'd been called worse.

She sighed and lowered the gun "...I'm pretty sure Harry has a pair of jeans you can wear."

Murphy paused, then jerked her head towards The Skull. "Bring _that_ thing too, will you?"

Harry was a little surprised when Lieutenant Murphy shut the door on the tiny bedroom to let him change. Though really, if he was supposed to be that dangerous, could a bullet really stop him? He was just going into his fourth year and he already had a good enough shield charm that bullets probably weren't problem. Not that he wanted to test that of course. He quickly made a mental note to practice his shield charm when he got back to Hogwarts.

He pulled on a t-shirt as he came out into the kitchen/couch/rug area. It really was a weird room. With all the stuff piled on top of itself, it reminded him a little bit like Kreacher's piles of treasured rubbish.

Murphy had holstered her gun. "Alright kid. I am sorry. About the gun." she clarified, seeing Harry's bemused look. "You can tell me your story, take as long as you like."

"My story?" Harry asked, still feeling fairly disoriented.

"Who you are, where you're from" she grinned, looking a little manic "...whether or not one of your parents happened to be from the Nevernever…" She took a deep breath. "But I'm going to need a cup of coffee first." she took another gulp of air "...a _big_ cup of coffee." she cracked a small, almost reluctant smile "...unless of course you'd care for a nice cup a' tea?"

Harry blinked. The Never-never? And 'a cupa tea'? Was she taking the mickey? Where _was_ this place anyway?

Lieutenant Murphy sat down with her coffee and widened her eyes expectantly.

Harry gulped. Waiting wasn't going to make things any easier. "Er, I guess you believe in magic?"

She cracked another one of those odd smiles. "I've been told that it works whether you believe in it or not. Coffee?"

Harry wasn't really sure what to say to any of that. "Um, no thanks."

The skull made a throat-clearing noise. "Can I do introductions? Because this is just _painful_."

"We don't know you either." Harry pointed out.

Bob sighed. "The things which you do not know, puny mortal, are manifold. My point stands. _This,_ as you may have gathered, is Lieutenant Karrin Murphy of the Chicago Police Department..."

Bob paused there, like a stalled computer, Murphy thought. No, she had to be imagining things. She couldn't even think of the skull as a computer, she couldn't see where it kept its _brain;_ to imagining it _hesitating_ just didn't make any sense.

"What you don't magically know _my_ name?" Harry asked. The winced. Why did he always have to mouth off at the _worst_ times? "Harry. Harry James Potter." He looked at Lieutenant Murphy apologetically.

There was another brief pause which made Harry think he had made some sort of faux pas.

"And this, Miss Murphy… this Harry Potter, is definitely a wizard, though…"

"And you know this _how_?" Murphy asked.

"Magic." Bob replied in the driest of tones.

She rubbed her eyes. "You know, if you've been in his basement the whole time…. I think I'm beginning to understand a little bit about why Harry is the way he is."

Or it could be that he was surrounded by insane wizards, vampires and criminals, and constantly embroiled in the internal politics of Faerie. That was also a possibility. She shrugged.

Murphy sighed. "Look, I've got nothing against you kid, but I have a lot going on right now. For all I know, none of this weirdness is your fault."

Harry tried to quirk a smile at that. "It never is…"

Murphy raised her eyebrows, but didn't pursue that particular comment, because "Bob" interrupted her: "Look, Lieutenant Murphy, this is going nowhere. You've got a bunch of fairies, and probably some other assorted nasties, that you can't handle, because you don't have magic. You don't have Harry either. I don't know where Harry is, but I do know that he doesn't generally pass up on hot dates unless there are monsters involved."

Murphy gave Bob's skull a dirty look.

"Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful." Bob said cheerily.

Murphy scowled. "I _trust_ Harry, it's not like I go head over heels for anything with a staff."

Bob tittered.

Murphy rolled her eyes. "Any other suggestions?"

"Well, you could take him to McAnally's and leave him on the doorstep with a note." Bob suggested.

Murphy didn't see Harry flinch. "McAnally's?" she asked, frowning.

"Yes, McAnally's. Wizard's pub. It's not surprising that Harry never took you. Never did know a good thing when he saw it... Though I must say that I would never have ignored such a lovely specimen of humanity as yourself."

Murphy wrinkled her nose. "I think I'm beginning to understand why we were never properly introduced. And I'm _not_ just dropping a kid off in some random spot in Chicago." she shot Bob a dirty look there.

Bob gave an exasperated sigh. "It's not random, it's _McAnally's_. Everyone knows McAnally's. I don't have a _body (_ well, usually) and I know McAnally's."

"And what if he _is_ in trouble? Or if he _were_ dangerous…" she gave Harry an apologetic look "...and if there are people after hi…"

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed.

They both looked at him. Murphy seemed concerned and Bob's lights flared with… interest? Though whether it was the interest of a child with bright eyes waiting for a story or of a nundu stalking its prey wasn't exactly clear.

Harry hurried to clarify. "I mean, yes, you could drop me off there, and you said it's a wizarding pub right? So they'll have a floo and I can get back home that way. I mean, I don't know if you can floo overseas, but at least there'll be someone there I can ask where to get an international portkey…"

Murphy looked thoughtful. Bob, on the other hand, blinked. It seemed like blinking at any rate. "Floo?" he asked, his words almost vibrating, like the tone of someone on the verge of an epiphany "Portkey?"

" _Er_ , yes?" Harry said.

"I've never heard of either of those." Bob said.

"Oh. Well, I don't really know how it works in America." Harry said apologetically.

Bob made a scoffing noise. " _America_." he snorted. "I don't think you understand pretty-boy, when you've been around as long as I have, there isn't much you don't know. "Floo" and "portkey" clearly don't exist in this universe."

Murphy gave the skull a skeptical look. "And you know this because of… magic?"

"Plus a couple of other clues." Bob agreed affably, but offered no further information.

"Like what?" Harry pressed.

"You wouldn't understand." Bob said.

Harry reddened, glaring at the skull, and spoke in clipped sentences. "I don't. Understand now. So I'll hardly be worse off if you try, now will I?"

Murphy tried to stifle a grin at that. She _liked_ this kid. She had no reason to, and his appearance was admittedly pretty suspicious... but looking back, there were things about the not-Dresden that had ambushed her that had been subtly off... this kid was all human. She was sure she'd be able to tell now, even if she didn't have Dresden's fancy magic tools or his "third eye." Method-acting apparently didn't really help if you were a different species.

She hoped.

"Fine." the skull sighed "Simply put, you have a magical signature, your own personal connection to the magic of the world, or I should say 'this world?' ...earth, air, fire and water etc." he, _it_ , paused, only continuing after a theatrical throat-clearing "...except you are a wizard -you clearly have some form of _human_ magic - but are not connected to the native magic of this world."

"Wait, do you mean that I can't do magic?" Harry asked, a sudden feeling of something very like panic shot through him.

"Er…" Bob's lights darted from side to side "...I don't know?"

"You can tell me that I've come from a different universe, but you don't know whether I can do magic!" Harry shouted. He heard the panic in his voice, as if he were running just a little too fast and he could feel himself falling even though he hadn't quite fallen yet.

Bob made another delicate throat-clearing sound. "Actually, a different plane. An 'alternate universe' is something of an oxymoron. A thing which can logically exist in a universe technically "belongs" to that universe. If universes could intersect… then they would, in essence be the the same universe at the the intersection… it's all very Plato, I know." "Also, you gave what I assume was your full name. We don't do that here. Ever."

"Why not?" Harry asked. There was something about this skull that reminded him of Hermione. Except, no matter how swotty Hermione was, he had never had the urge to smash her to pieces with a several-kilo grimoire.

Murphy spoke up then. "If you know someone's name it gives you a kind of power over them, you can summon them or, find them, or… it's just bad okay?"

Bob somehow gave the impression of a person shrugging "Eh, close enough."

Harry cleared his throat. "So. Inter- _dimensional_ travel. I may now be a squib. And I'm in the house of another person called Harry. Anything else I should know?"

"We should probably check that magic thing first. Harry gets really antsy when he has to go out without his blasting rod. I can't imagine how awful he'd be if he couldn't do _any_ magic." Bob said matter-of-factly.

 _Blasting rod?_ Harry wondered. Maybe that was just what they called wands here. "Er, yeah. Ok."

"Hey, wait a minute." Murphy interrupted. "Are you saying we can't send him _back_?"

"Well..." Bob said slowly "...I didn't technically _say_ that. But since it happened spontaneously it will probably reverse spontaneously." he paused. "Or it won't.

Murphy glanced around the room and grit her teeth. Well she obviously couldn't leave the kid at _Dresden's_. Did the man even own _toothpaste_? She shook her head. Now _that_ was uncharitable, and really not very useful. She sighed. "Any other suggestions, skull?"

"Besides McAnally's?" Bob asked. "No."

"Oh, for god's sake!" Murphy exclaimed, then closed her eyes and took a few, deep calming breaths. She looked straight at Harry for a very long, uncomfortable moment, asking Bob: "Where's Harry's gear?"

"How should I know?" Bob replied "Am I my master's keeper?"

"He has some sort of protective bracelet that he uses right?" Murphy asked.

"If you know, why are you asking me?" Bob said and Murphy gave the skull a look that implied that either a hammer or a couple of strategically-placed bullets were figuring largely in his future.

"Fine. Fine." Bob gave a put-upon sigh. "My guess would be that if Harry disappeared in the same way _this_ Harry appeared, he was probably asleep and the shield bracelet is probably tangled up somewhere in his sheets. He probably tossed his blasting rod and staff somewhere in the bedroom. Or he fell asleep out here on the couch."

"The duster?" Murphy asked.

"I don't know." Bob sounded exasperated "Hanging by the door? In the closet? Tossed onto the back of an armchair? You're the cop."

Murphy turned away from Bob, eyes narrow, and gave Harry what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. "Fine. Ok." "Here's what we're going to do: I'm going to get you Harry's shield bracelet..."

"And pentacle." Bob suggested.

"And pentacle." Murphy agreed, with only a slight roll of her eyes "...and we're going to go to McAnally's, and we'll try to get some information." _and_ , she thought, eyeing the boys scrawny arms, probably get a sandwich or _nine_ "It's not a great plan but Harry said that things were a bit uneasy in Faerie-land. Knowing Harry and his gift for understatement, that means that World War III is about to break out. We can't exactly wait around for him. Especially if this thing's theory is right." she indicated Bob there.

"Fairies?" Harry said. Had she mentioned fairies before? He thought she had. He must have been distracted.

Murphy pressed a hand to her forehead. "You really are from a different universe aren't you? Okay, if you meet a fairy, don't make any deals, don't eat any of their food…"

"...and don't have sex with them." Bob supplied helpfully.

Harry turned slightly pink and asked "Er... are we talking about the same kind of fairies? Because… well…"

"Evidently not." Bob said dryly. "There are the little, pastel-colored butterfly things that non-practitioners tend to think of why you say 'fairy.' The greater fae, however, are… you-sized. You can't miss them. They don't blend in, at all. The general consensus seems to be that they don't really seem… _human_. Not that I would know the difference. On a related note: they can't lie, but you might as well act as if they can."

"I see." Harry said slowly. He didn't really. Not at all. He felt that he should feel excited and amazed that there was a whole new world out there for him to discover. Why couldn't he feel like he felt when he was eleven and Hagrid had come and explained that life was so much more wonderful and amazing and, well, _magical_ than he could have ever dreamed? Yes, of course, after that there was the whole Quirrell-turning-to-dust thing... and the basilisk nearly killing him... and nearly being sucked soulless by dementors last year... then the mess at the Quidditch Cup… but didn't he get some sort of honeymoon here before that sort of thing set in? He looked around the wildly-colored living room as if searching for an escape exit. _Apparently not._

Murphy was rubbing her eyes, probably, Harry thought, contemplating the joys of escorting a randy teenager through a city full of what were apparently evil veela. Harry was listening to Bob lecture on the weaknesses of fairies at dizzying speed - Iron, check. Flowing water, check… - when Murphy cleared her throat "They're not evil though. Harry said, sorry, _my_ Harry, Dresden, said that they're not evil. They just don't have souls. If you soulgaze one of them you don't see anything."

"Soulgaze?" Harry squinted apologetically. Which reminded him. No glasses. No wonder the world looked so fuzzy.

"By the juicy and delicious breasts of the goddess Hathor!" Bob exclaimed "You do have a lot to learn don't you?"

Harry scowled at the reminder as Murphy sank into her chair, looking completely at a loss.

Then, almost immediately, she straightened. "Come on, we're going to McAnally's. I don't know enough to help you, and you certainly don't know enough to help me."

Bob made another of those annoying throat-clearing noises. Which was completely ridiculous, Harry scowled, because the thing didn't even _have_ a throat. "Ah... Your friendly neighborhood quasi-omniscient spirit of intellect at your service?"

"Why would you help _us_?" Harry asked.

"Boredom?" Bob suggested "...and, well, your world has Harry Dresden. If we can't figure out a way to get him back before he dies, he'll technically own me forever." which elicited a sound something like a shudder.

Harry looked at the skull, not really processing. Murphy simply looked unsympathetic. "So it's the genie in the bottle deal is it? Do I even want to know how Harry got ahold of something like you?" She asked.

"I'm sure _he_ wouldn't want you to know." Bob said, in a tone that was almost _prim._

" _Mhmm_." was all Murphy said to that as she walked over to the couch, picked up the blasting rod where it sat by the coffee table and began rooting around the cushions and blankets for Dresden's shield bracelet. She found more M &Ms and powdered chips than she did magical amulets for a while, and then in the far corner - had he slept with his arm wedged _under_ the cushion? - she found the bracelet. After rooting around for a bit under the couch she found the pentacle.

" _Got_ it." She grunted.

"Fantastic." Came the kid's voice over her shoulder. "I don't suppose he has anything, er, smaller?" She looked up to see him holding Dresden's staff. Inconspicuous it was not. The thing was almost as tall as he was, and he wasn't a short kid. Thin, too thin really, but not short.

"What about the duster?" She asked. Then sighed. There really was no point in keeping him unarmed. If he was a wizard, he could already have killed her. If he wasn't then what harm could a wizard's staff do? It just _felt_ stupid.

"Duster?" He asked, looking at her quizzically, his accent making the question seem much more amusing than it probably was.

"A big coat." She clarified.

"Oh. Right over there. It's a bit big for me." He flashed a brief boyish grin "And you I s'pose."

"Har. Har. Yes, we represent the Lollipop Guild, let's move on." Murphy said. Apparently he already had, because he had walked over to the hall and was pointing the staff at the coat rack.

"Ah... what are you doing?" she asked, warily.

He was staring at the duster, wearing what was actually a rather adorable look of concentration that looked like it belonged to a boy much younger. Actually, she realized, she had no idea how old he was. Thirteen, fourteen?

He frowned "I'm _trying_ to shrink it. I mean, I can feel that this thing…" he jerked his eyes towards the staff "...channels magic, is _supposed_ to channel magic, but it's weird and it…" then came a loud bang! and the coat rack slammed into the wall.

"Whoa." he looked back at her, eyes wide. She half expected to see singed eyebrows for some reason. "I guess not."

Murphy went over, raising her eyebrows, and held the now-much-smaller coat up against her. _Cool._ "Hey, at least it worked." Then something else occurred to her: "You can change it back right?"

"Um…" Harry looked a little sheepish, as if he hadn't considered that before starting "...I don't know?"

"Well, we'll worry about that later. When we get Harry, Dresden," she corrected herself "back and get you, Harry, back home."

Bob made his throat-clearing noise again. "And what exactly is your plan for accomplishing that Miss Murphy?"

Her jaw went rigid. "I am now adventuring with a wizard and an extremely _accommodating_ magical encyclopedia." She turned to glare at Bob as if he were personally responsible for all her problems: "I'll find a way."

Harry ignored them, grabbed a rucksack and started trying to shrink some of Harry Dresden's giant trainers. _Merlin_ , he might be tall for his age, but this Dresden bloke must have been _enormous_. What with the jeans, and now the shoes that were big enough for a pygmy puff rowboat.

"Ready?" Murphy asked.

Harry found himself giving this strange American woman a cheeky grin. It wasn't the best adventure he'd had, but at least there weren't any muggle-torturing Death Eaters... and he wasn't stuck here alone with a crazy talking skull... and there was something about her that was very _Ron_. Well, if Ron were two feet shorter, blonde and female, and maybe, quite possibly, not yet determined to be trustworthy. _"_ Always." he replied.


	3. Ch 3 - Déjà vu (Dresden)

I woke up suddenly, as if someone had just restarted my heart. I yelped in surprise.

" _Sshhh_ , you're going to wake the ghoul up." someone whispered. It was a boy's voice, right by my head.

 _Ghoul_? I didn't have a chance to give that any thought. From the casual way he was speaking, presumably the situation was under control. Still, I made a mental note, just in case. I heard a sigh. It came from Einstein-girl, I was pretty sure. Then she whispered: " _Quietus"_ and something that sounded like: " _a_ _udiendi audiat"_

I blinked at them. They were both crouched over me. The carrot-top was still in his traffic-cone colored pajamas, and the morning light hadn't visibly changed, so I couldn't have been out for that long.

Carrots waved at me. "Hi. Sorry 'bout that mate. Ah... we undid the ropes," at which I realized that I was indeed no longer hog-tied "...but if you move I'll stun you." he said matter-of-factly.

I shrugged. I couldn't exactly blame him. It wasn't like there was a protocol for this sort of thing. "Whatcha gonna do?"

Einstein-girl just sat there, twisting her wand in her hands.

"We don't have a lot of time." she said to Carrots "Your mum could come back at any moment now."

The boy shoved a whole half slice of toast into his mouth, and then spoke around it: "Donworry. 'sfine. Ginny can give Fred and George a run for their money."

I _still_ didn't know exactly who Fred and George were, but it didn't seem to be the time to ask.

She looked behind her, at the door, saying "Maybe we _should_ wait for Dumbledore to get here."

Carrots rolled his eyes. "Did _you_ want to wait around for him to decide what he wants to tell us? Which'll be _nothing_ by the way." Carrots' mouth was now clear of toast, and he sounded decisive for the first time. Einstein-girl turned to him with a slightly startled look, but said nothing.

Carrots twisted towards me "Look mate, I don't think you're a bad bloke. You were inside the wards and I reckon you could have killed us all while we slept. And you didn't. But…" he shrugged.

I neglected to point out that I had been asleep too. Didn't really seem the thing.

"Wish there was something I could do to convince you." I said "Actually…"

"Aah-ctually," Einstein girl interrupted, I couldn't get over the English accent "...there is."

I blinked. They weren't _honestly_ going to suggest a soulgaze with me, a stranger, when they had every advantage?

"You could take veritaserum. I would take it too." she offered hurriedly. "...and Ronald..." but she looked at him questioningly.

"You have _veritaserum_?" Carrots said, eyes agog, as I asked: "What's veritaserum?"

They both looked at each other, then at me. They looked back at each other.

She glanced away from Carrots, flushing and looking somehow both very nervous and very pleased with herself. "It's a potion. It makes you tell the truth. But you can refuse to answer." she added quickly, still looking at me like I'd told her that I needed help brushing my teeth.

I blinked. That sounded very, _very_ illegal. I wasn't sure whether it broke the Third or Fourth Law of magic, or both. If the truth-telling was directed, I guess it counted as a kind of enthrallment. If you were just forcing someone to tell the truth that was probably only a violation of the Third Law. But I didn't see how you could make one without completely sidelining someone's free will. ...and even if you could, I was pretty sure that the White Council wouldn't be thrilled about it. Yup, _super_ illegal.

I had the feeling that this was very big. Far bigger than I understood. I mean, discovering an entire magical subculture is pretty big already. But _truth potion_? I wished Bob was around so that I could ask him about it. He at least had probably heard of such a thing and could give me a little bit on these people's background.

"Okay…" I said slowly, and she lifted a little glass dropper to her mouth and took two drops.

"There." she said and gave me an odd, shy little smile. "Now you know it's not poison."

If she hadn't taken some sort of antidote before waking me up that is. But I didn't bother mentioning that. She didn't exactly look like any of the nasties that I was familiar with, and the whole room had an almost disturbingly wholesome, if dilapidated, feel to it.

I shrugged. "I didn't think it was."

 _Oh god._ I finally connected the dots. She hadn't stolen it from the proverbial medicine cabinet, she'd brewed it _herself._ Maybe it _was_. And I don't normally like to rely on other people's magic _anyway_. Still. She wasn't dropping dead. That seemed like a good sign.

She handed me the dropper. " _Just_ two drops."

The redhead boy stuck out his hand for it when I finished. "I'm Ron by the way. Ronald Bilius Weasley." he gave a wry smile, as if I was supposed to know what that meant. I just stared at him. All I knew was that he'd just given me a large portion of what was (presumably) his real name, in a (foolish) show of trust?

"...and this is Hermione." he pointed to the girl, oblivious.

I noticed a brief tension in the girl's shoulders. Perhaps _she_ had enough sense not to give her name out then.

"Harry Dresden" I replied, trying for a grin. Everyone already knew those two anyway. Then I turned to 'Hermione,' (I figured I'd better stop calling her Einstein-girl) who was almost bouncing with nervousness.

Ron laughed, glancing at Hermione. "See? Come on 'Mione. Dresden's not a wizarding name _either_."

"Uh…" I wasn't exactly sure what was going on with that, but…

Hermione gave Ron a cool look and turned to me. I had no idea what that was about, but she wore the expression of someone who has just had their number taken and _really_ doesn't like it. Like it was one of those brief flashes of insight that are so uncomfortable they're almost like a mini-soulgaze.

"Do you know where Harry is?" Hermione asked, nose in the air. She sounded a strangely flat, but still worried somehow.

I assumed she meant _their_ Harry.

 _'No_ ' is what I meant to say, but I couldn't get it out.

"Do you know where Harry _Potter_ is?" she clarified, seeming to read my mind. Sharp one this girl. Or perhaps she just knew how this truth potion thing was supposed to work. I shuddered. She had dosed herself… so I guess I wasn't _technically_ breaking any laws of magic? I wasn't exactly under duress. Maybe?

"No." I replied, easily this time. "I don't even know _who_ he is." I offered. _Interesting_. So I was able to manage more than a simple yes-or-no...

They both looked at each other again. As if they didn't appreciate my brand of humor.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "How ever did you get here?"

"Don't know." I said. "Do you know how I got here?" I asked. My distaste for the truth potion aside, I was still hoping they didn't have an truth-antidote that they could take beforehand. Because if so, I was screwed, and I had just risked my life and/or sanity with Miss Einstein's potion for _nothing_.

"No." she grimaced. It clearly bothered her. "Are you a wizard?" she asked.

I squinted at that. "Uh? Yes. Are you?"

"Yes. Well, I'm a witch, and Ron's a wizard technically but…" she bit the rest off. "Sorry, I guess veritaserum makes me a little talkative."

The redhead raised his eyebrows, and looked at me with a brief moment of shared doubt that clearly said: _It's not the veritaserum sweetheart._

"Where am I?" I asked.

"The Burrow. Ottery St. Catchpole. England." she said immediately, her clean, crisp English consonants sounding vaguely cloudy under the potion.

"That's your… staff/wand thing?" I asked pointing to her little stick.

She nodded, looking almost dizzy with the happiness the question elicited. "Yes, it's my wand. Where's yours?"

"I have no idea. I'm just glad…" I was about to say that I was glad I had my clothes with me, but I looked down and I realized that I didn't. I didn't have my rings either, or my pentacle, which was far more disturbing. No duster to be seen anywhere. I felt even more naked without it.

"Ron" laughed and tossed me a pair of pajamas. I doubted they'd fit me, but then he _was_ pretty tall. "Sorry mate, should have thought of that."

I looked up at Hermione. She turned away as I shimmied into the bottoms under the sheets, and she was a little pink, but she hadn't seem to care before. Very clinical. She'd make a great doctor if she didn't want to become a witch.

Ron scratched the back of his head. "I wonder if Dumbledore's in a meeting. I'd have thought he'd apparate over immediately."

Hermione nodded.

I didn't know anything about the situation, but clearly this Dumbledore was some sort of leader. Perhaps like the Merlin. "Who's Dumbledore?" I asked cheerfully. I figured I'd go all in "...is he a spirit? Because I know what _I_ mean when I talk about apparitions…"

They both stared at me, then looked at each other. That was beginning to get really creepy.

Hermione turned back to me and spoke very, very slowly, as if she was having trouble rounding up enough words and sending them out in the right order "...Dumbledore is… the headmaster of Hogwarts… a member of the ICW, chairman of the Wizengamot, and leader of the Order of the Phoenix."

Had I hit my head? Because while that hadn't sounded exactly like _Greek_ to me, it was a bit like trying to translate Old Dutch on the fly. "Come again?" I said.

Hermione chewed her lip, obviously debating on whether she should tell me something or not. "The Order of the Phoenix; it was formed, independent of the Ministry of Magic, during the first wizarding war in order to oppose Lord Voldemort."

"Er…" I began. I know Americans have a reputation for not really paying attention to what's going on in the rest of the world, but I liked to think that I took an interest in major developments and 'first wizarding war' sounded pretty major. I _knew_ English wizards, and I still thought they might have mentioned some of this. "Lord Voldemort?" I asked.

Her eyes grew wide.

"Maybe we should take him to Madam Pomfrey? Not St. Mungo's obviously…" Hermione chewed her lip and glanced towards Ron.

He shook his head slowly tapping his wand against his knee. "Mate, you remember who you are right? You know where you were yesterday?"

I gave him a Look. "Yeah kid, I do. Son of Margaret LeFay. Apprenticed to Ebenezer McCoy. Chicago's only professional wizard." I stopped, frowning. _Wow_. I really didn't like this Veritaserum stuff. _At_ _all_.

"Uhuh." he tugged on his chin.

Hermione spoke up. "That doesn't mean _anything_ Ronald. It could just mean they've replaced all his memories. Or they took a muggle and now he thinks he's a wizard. Which is just so… cruel." She actually _did_ look close to tears.

"Look. I'm sure you guys have got problems. But I have a bunch of kids missing, the new Summer Lady is swamped, and I have an appointment with Murphy to try and clear all…" I cut myself off again. I hadn't meant to say any of that. And _damn_. I did have that appointment with Murphy. Sort of. I'd asked to meet with her specifically, and now I was in England. Sure I might not have to make the flight from wherever-the-hell-on-Thames and could just pop into the Nevernever with only the slightest chance of something turning me into a bit of wizard jerky, but the chances of my getting together with her for a strategy session over morning coffee were now next to nil. And she _needed_ to know. People were going to start calling the cops soon, if they hadn't already. Sure, they'd _say_ that they thought people were watching their house, or people were vandalizing sidewalks and lurking in back alleys, but what they'd mean is that they're creeped out. Helpful hint: the hairs on the back of your neck are almost always _right_.

I rubbed my forehead.

"Look, wherever you're from and whatever you're doin', Dumbledore's going to be here any minute now." Ronald Bilius began.

"And I have a potential crisis with the fairies. _Again_." I rolled my eyes. I really _hated_ this truth potion. It made things sound so cold, and horrible, and life-as-we-know-it-ending. I had hoped this whole 'saving the world thing' wasn't going to be an annual event. "Look, do you all have phone downstairs? I have an appointment, and…"

"Sorry?" Hermione said, eyes wide.

Ah. Maybe I shouldn't have put it that way. "I just meant that there's some stuff going on in Chicago and it would be better if the fairies didn't find out. Not a big deal."

 _Liar_! my conscience screamed at me, and continued ranting... _d_ _eceiver_ _-of-innocent-children and general asshat..._ I paused my in my recriminations as something occurred to me... _huh_. Apparently the truth potion thing had stopped working.

I looked up. Hermione was blinking, but still not speaking. I cleared my throat.

She didn't respond to me, but instead looked to Ron. "I think we _really_ need to talk to Dumbledore."

"I do think that is a very wise decision Miss Granger." a slightly amused voice said from beyond the bedroom door.

It was almost, almost, comical to see the eyes of the two teenagers widen, even as their bodies _froze_.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione (Granger, apparently) squeaked. Again, _ignoring_ me. I really don't have self-esteem issues, but honestly... I'm over six feet tall, it's not like I get regularly passed over, even when I _want_ to be.

"Didn't quite reckon on him crashing your little Bobbsey twins party?" I asked.

The door creaked open and I saw an old man, about my height, in bright red and gold robes with - were those little _ducks_ embroidered on the sleeves? - with a long white beard that would have put Rapunzel to shame.

He turned to look at me, still sitting on the bed in Ronald Bilius Weasley's pajama bottoms.

"Hello Mr Dresden. I hope you're enjoying your visit to Alba." He tilted his head, looking at me as if he had x-ray glasses. I finally understood what people meant when they said "penetrating gaze." Merry blue eyes and little gold ducks notwithstanding, he didn't seem like someone you wanted to piss off. He had a notable vibe. You can always tell of course (if you're paying attention) and even lesser practitioners can unintentionally radiate some power, but this guy... I mean, he walked into the room and it was like it shifted _around_ him. Come to think of it, the two teenagers seemed pretty powerful too.

Then it hit me. He was _staring_ me straight in the eyes.

No soulgaze.

But before I could even panic and start thinking about the fact that this _thing_ possibly had no soul, he frowned. And just like that I was in. I had the sensation of a thousand shutters frantically closing. But somehow, somehow I'd done the equivalent of going through an air duct, and the panic I felt then was suddenly not mine, but _his_.

I was in a huge, round library, with a fire in the center. It was kind of library you only see in movies, full of big old books and dark red wood, but with the roof open to the sky, almost like an atrium, or an ancient observatory.

And a corpse. How could I have missed that? There was a _corpse_. And it was _sitting_ in the _fire_.

It's mouth opened in a soundless scream. It sat up, with the jerky movements of a crumbling coal, face melting into a younger, smoother face, but before I could see anything else I was pushed back, and found myself sitting on the bed, the man Dumbledore staring back at me, impassive.

"That was the weirdest soulgaze _ever_." I breathed, more weirded out by his lack of response than anything I'd seen. And I'd been pretty weirded out by what I'd seen.

"Oh, is that what you call it?" He took something out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth. "Lemon drop?"

Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought all this was strange, because both teens turned to stare at him like he'd grown an extra head. Dumbledore simply shrugged.

The girl, Hermione I corrected myself, was the first to move "You used Legilimency on him?" She asked, her voice full of inexplicable horror. "He could be perfectly harmless!"

Part of me wanted to object that in no possible universe am I, in any way, 'perfectly harmless.' But it was quickly throttled by the part of me that recognized that someone was attempting, in whatever way, to defend my interests. Unfamiliar feeling that.

Dumbledore did not give her a reply, but instead looked at me, evenly, expressionlessly. "My apologies Mr Dresden. The stakes are high. Breaching anyone's mental privacy is not my first choice. A very valuable person has just gone missing, and you arrived in his place, you must understand why that would concern us?"

I nodded dumbly. Because what was there to say to that really? I can't say that I respond very well to children going missing either. Admittedly, I probably wouldn't do what sounded like trying to force my way into someone's _mind_...

"I don't suppose the soulgaze cleared anything up for you then?" I asked.

Dumbledore gave me a measuring look, and cocked his head. "I do not believe you intend harm, if that answers your question Mr. Dresden. But under the circumstances I am… wary."

"So am I." I said, giving him my best Clint Eastwood glare.

Dumbledore smiled "Yes, I can see that Mr. Dresden."

I was still pretty annoyed about the mind-reading thing - I don't like soulgazes, but at least they go both ways. Still, it's strange how not being trusted somehow put me at ease. After all, _I_ wouldn't trust me, 'under the circumstances.' Then I suddenly felt very bad for the kids, because if I _had_ intended them harm, they'd put themselves in a very, very dangerous situation. They hadn't known I wasn't armed. And I'm still pretty dangerous when I'm not armed. Well, if I'm not trussed up like a chicken.

The strategist in me couldn't help but ask: "So how did the Legilimency thing work?"

His eyes twinkled. "Poorly. Mr Dresden. From one point of view. From another it was most... _illuminating_."

Good god. What had he _seen_? And then, in a very brief flash of (probably wrong) certainty, I realized that, despite what he'd said, he _did_ trust me, at least on the whole. His prattle about 'desperate times and desperate measures' was more because he'd been in trouble with 'Miss Granger' over reading my mind.

"Professor." Miz Granger interrupted our awkward silence. "Is it possible that there _are_ hidden enclaves separate from the rest of wizarding society?"

Dumbledore turned his twinkling eyes on her. "Oh, I dare say that anything is _possible_ Miss Granger."

Miz Granger did not look amused. Ron took her hand again. She looked half like she wanted to slap him away and half like she wanted to hug him. It was partly funny, but it also reminded me painfully of myself and Elaine.

"Ah…" I began.

"Statute of Secrecy, signed in 1689, in the first year of William and Mary's reign, designed to conceal the wizarding world from muggles, and bring an end to the persecutions of the middle seventeenth century." Dumbledore offered blandly, fixing me with a look of that seemed like it was supposed to give the impression something damned near omniscience.

I nodded as if I understood.

The eyes twinkled again. "I spoke with Molly and she has invited us all to breakfast." He looked towards Ron, whose ears turned pink. "Those of us who haven't already managed to eat one that is."

* * *

Breakfast was… surreal. Completely surreal.

First of all. There I am, a complete stranger, waking up in someone's bedroom, lucky to have not had my throat slit by a panicky mother. Or sibling. Or maybe-not-quite-girlfriend. And then, half an hour later, there I am sitting down to _breakfast_ with them like I'm some long lost cousin. Admittedly, they might have considered me to be the kind of cousin that you invite over for a 'Congratulations on your parole!' party, but still…

Secondly, the Weasleys (that was their surname I found) had about a dozen children, some of whom were present. I met the famous twins, whose names I promptly forgot after internally christening them Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Alright so their names were Fred and George, but I skipped calling them that because they seemed to have this little song and dance thing where they mixed their names up and thought they were clever. Gods of mischief types. The little red-headed girl murmured an apology at me as I sat down. Though what for I had no idea. Maybe the screaming. I don't know why. Hell, I'd scream if I could get away with it. There are plenty of times I've come up against something made out of ectoplasm, with way too many heads or legs for comfort, and _I'd_ have screamed if I'd thought it would have helped.

Anyhow, the husband, Arthur, seemed to take it all with astonishing good grace. The matron, Molly - whose gift of frequent and generous servings of bacon made me sincerely regret any comparison that I'd made between various landscape features and her hair - kept feeding us, as if she was worried that the moment our mouths were empty we would begin talking again.

Which was not unreasonable, considering that I'd only gotten about halfway through my second plateful (hey, I'd gone to bed without dinner, or, for that matter, a shower, last night) when Dumbledore, charmer that he is, dropped the other hobnailed, steel-toed boot.

"Of course, school starts in only a few days and we must discuss what to do until we get Harry back." Dumbledore said, taking a delicate sip of his tea.

"What do you mean, "get Harry back?"" The little red-headed girl asked. Her mother had introduced her as Ginevra. I thought I heard her say her name was Winnie. Who knew?

"Why Miss Weasley, we have no reason to suspect that Mr. Potter is in anything other than excellent health. In cases like these…" Miz Granger gave a surprisingly indelicate snort at that "...there is usually a mirroring effect. I would not be surprised if Mr. Dresden had no trouble at all using Harry's wand. Though I would not recommend that of course. Mr. Dresden seems to have been simply exchanged with our Harry, and, as he seems to have suffered no ill effects, it seems reasonable to believe that Mr Potter is hale and whole. The only problem…" Dumbledore tapped his chin "... is getting him back."

"And until then?" Arthur asked.

Dumbledore leaned his elbows on the table and pressed the tips of his fingertips together."We have limited options. Possibly we might be able to find someone who could be polyjuiced as Harry." The looks of revulsion at the idea on the Ronald Bilius' and Miz Granger's faces were very poorly concealed.

It was then that I realized why it was that Dumbledore hadn't gotten straight to business upstairs. If these kids weren't included, they would _include themselves._

"So you want someone to pretend to be Harry for… how long? However long... until we decide he's not coming back?" Ron asked, his tone belligerent.

"Mr. Weasley, your concern for your friend is commendable, but a bit untempered. We simply require a provisional plan. After the events at the World Cup people are uncertain and fearful, having the Boy Who Lived - as little as we all like that title - disappear for even a short period of time could be disastrous."

Hermione turned to Dumbledore "How could you even _find_ someone to play Harry for a long period of time? Ron might be the only one who knows him well enough and you have to take it every hour, not to mention it's extremely painful, and polyjuice takes _months_ to make, and..."

Dumbledore twinkled again, saying blandly: "As your professors have often remarked, you have a remarkable intellect Miss Granger. I find myself pleasantly unsurprised that you know so much about an obscure N.E.W.T level potion. I have a notion that you might eventually even impress our estimable Professor Snape, were you given the opportunity…"

She flushed, and apparently not just because of the flattery. She looked as if someone had just complimented her on her cookie-stealing skills. Apparently there was some background there. And when he mentioned the Snape guy her face went almost white. "No, no, sir. I just happened to… come across it once…I know how valuable Professor Snape's time is."

"Do you now?" Dumbledore's amusement colored his whole tone.

Hermione backpedalled furiously. "No sir. None at all. I mean I haven't… I don't know anything…" she trailed off as Ron put a hand on her shoulder.

Because _that_ didn't sound suspicious at all. I rolled my eyes. These people wouldn't know subtlety if it bit them in the ass. And this is _me_ talking. Mr. Shoot First and Only Ask Questions When Absolutely Necessary, Provided the Sources of Information Haven't Already Been Blown Up. _Me_.

" _Or…_ " Dumbledore continued, silencing the table (which had started to murmur) "...we can put it out that Harry has gone into private training. Whether people believe that Lord Voldemort has returned or not - in light of the recent Death Eater attack - they cannot deny that he is still a target, or the fact that he is far more vulnerable than the average child attending Hogwarts."

The table was silent for a long moment. I added 'death eater' to my rapidly growing list of 'what the hell are you people talking about' questions.

Molly shrugged. "I don't see what else we can do."

Everyone else nodded. Except for the aforementioned Ron, whose head was drooping, his hands clasped together on top of his plate.

"We still have few days to decide." Dumbledore said. "That of course, leaves the question of what you will do, Mr. Dresden."

Dammit. I'd never realized that my last name sounded so annoying. But somehow I didn't think a "just call me Harry" was going to go over well.

"I don't suppose you have a portal to Chicago handy do you?" I asked cheerily. I really didn't want to go through the Nevernever, especially not with the whole fairy-war mess from last year. And my godmother's lovely hounds of hell.

"I suppose we could arrange for a portkey to Chicago…" Dumbledore said thoughtfully "...but it's possible that we might need you in order to get Harry back if we can't locate him."

 _Ah_. I _can_ see a church by daylight.

"And you want to keep an eye on me." I added.

Dumbledore smiled apologetically. "There are many people under the impression that I am a fool Mr. Dresden, but I like to think otherwise. And…" I felt skewered by his gaze again "...something tells me that you are not the kind of wizard to stand by idle when there are innocent lives at stake."

Again I shivered and wondered what he had seen during the soulgaze. I think I kept going back to that because I didn't want to think about what _I_ had seen.

"No." I swallowed. "I'm not."

Sometimes I wish that I was. I blame my dad for that. My mom gave me the magic genes and my dad gave me a conscience that won't wither and die no matter how much metaphorical weed-killer you hit it with.

"Though I would like to know what's going on with this Voldemort guy that everyone's talking about. He's not a pop star I hope?'

Every head at the table shot towards me. Apparently Dumbledore hadn't updated everyone on my status as pet/foreigner/idiot. Which was odd, because there really wasn't a cover story worked out. I didn't even have a personal, half-assed cover story made out. I didn't know enough. What I _wanted_ was to talk to Bob and see what was going on. I _thought_ I knew what was going on, but that's not the same as _knowing_ what's going on.

Tweedledum was the first to recover: "He's a dark wizard." he said.

"Seriously scary." Tweedledee added.

"And insane." Tweedledum amended.

"Who attracts other dark wizards..." The other said.

Dum interrupted his twin "...and uses them to spread terror and mayhem…"

"...and their half-arsed pureblood ideology..." Dee got in.

"...wherever they go." They finished together. Molly shot both of them a scolding look.

I blinked. "Uh, yeah, I hate to upstage the whole "missing hero" thing, but I'm beginning to think that I really need the Cliff's notes version of your world at some point."

Oops. Hadn't meant to say that last bit out loud.

Fortunately I seemed to be in a time-warp where everyone (well, except the teens) acted and dressed as if it was the Middle Ages. "Cliff's notes?" Ron asked.

"The American version of York Notes." Hermione waved her hand as if brushing away a gnat, "Oh, sorry…" she opened her mouth to explain, seeming to realize from their befuddled looks that they didn't know what York Notes were either, then apparently thought better of it: "...you know, never mind."

"I believe, Mr. Dresden, that we can happily bring you up to speed." He glanced over at Hermione "...and I'm sure that Miss Granger has an inexhaustible number of questions that she wants to ask you."

"Oh. Okay." Usually I'm not used to people agreeing with me so quickly. It usually requires a blasting rod. Or a gun. Sometimes both.

Dumbledore twinkled again and clapped his hands together once. "That settles it. There is only the matter of wands."

I suddenly felt very bad for whoever Harry Potter was. He was probably ridiculously overrated - just because I know the sort of stories people tell about _me_ \- but I also knew how _I_ felt without my staff. Plus, being completely alone in a strange city… I don't exactly live the life of a social butterfly. He could wake up in my apartment and it could be weeks before he saw anyone who could help him. Hopefully Billy would find him. Or Murphy. Or he would figure out how to use my staff. Or my rolodex. From the way they talked about him, he didn't sound like a complete idiot. Any more than anyone is a complete idiot at fifteen, I mean.

" _Only_?" Hermione's eyes went wide.

"Well, as I said, I'm quite confident that Mr Dresden could use Harry's wand with no ill effects. Unfortunately, Harry is, of course, in training and is making wonderful use of it."

I assumed from this that wands are highly individual, like staffs, and easily recognized.

I wasn't wrong. After our trip to the wand store I kind of wished I had been.

* * *

So my crazy morning ended in a fittingly insane fashion. With a shopping trip. With Gandalf of the grey areas, and half of the Bobbsey twins. To a magical outdoor mall. Where you could buy dragon livers. And owls to deliver your mail. And broomsticks. Which could fly.

Our destination was, of course, the creepiest shop of the lot: _Ollivander's, in business since 382 BC_. No lie.

Something told me that no one had updated these folks on the fact that it's more politically correct to use 'Before the Common Era' now. Ah well, not my circus, not my monkeys.

"Er, don't suppose they've dusted since 382 either?" I joked. I tend to do that during uncomfortable silences. And as uncomfortable silences go... this shop could have bottled the stuff. Diagon Alley was _packed_ , looking like downtown Chicago on Christmas Eve when everyone suddenly remember that _this_ year they have to get presents for people. But no. The creepy little store was completely empty.

It looked like a decrepit old shoe store actually. If anyplace sold ten-inch long shoes for monopods, that is. There were racks and racks and rows and rows of long, thin boxes, and it really _did_ look like it hadn't been dusted in over a millennium.

An old fellow, who looked like he'd been exhumed to man the cash register, came up to us.

"The other Harry." He gave a creepy smile. "A pleasure Mr. Dresden."

"How did he…" I was going to ask how he knew my name, and then decided I didn't want to know. If I was very lucky it would only be the legilimency-thing and not something worse. He turned away to wander through the rows without another word.

Dumbledore stood unobtrusively in the corner, examining a dust bunny that was apparently well on it's way towards sentience. Ron and Hermione, however, were practically bouncing on their toes. They looked like they were having entirely too much fun. At my expense.

"Why don't you kids go get an ice cream or something?" I asked, gritting my teeth.

"Oh no. We wouldn't miss this for the world, mate." Ron grinned.

Hermione smiled at me apologetically. At least she felt _guilty_ about her schadenfreude, I thought. "Sorry, Mr. Dresden, it's just… it's rather a tradition."

"I see." I said. "Standing awkwardly in a creepy store while a wizard older than Methuselah stares at you for no apparent reason is tradition?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well… _yes_?"

"Mr. Dresden." Ollivander appeared, suddenly, like a djinn materializing out of the sand of the desert.

"I believe this would suit you. Yew..." he was running his hands along the wand in a way that was, frankly, a little disturbing.

"Me?" I said stupidly.

Creepy wand-man sighed. "Yew. The tree."

"Oh. No, nuhuh. Yew and I don't get along. I mean yew-wood and…" I stopped and took a deep breath "I _never_ would, could, consider making a staff out of yew. Wood. The kind from a tree." I corrected.

Ollivander just continued staring.

"Or I guess I could try one out, just to shut you up." I said, still operating on the same principles I use in shoe-stores.

He made no move to give me the wand, or put it away, for that matter, but instead asked me "You say you've made your own wand?"

"Well, it's more of a staff really, but yeah." I agreed, wiggling the wand, trying to get a feel for it, the magic felt kind of... slippery.

Only his eyes moved. I swear the man could speak without moving his mouth. "I see. May I ask what wood you used as a base?"

He already had, but why not? "Rowan." I replied. I really _wasn't_ looking forward to making another one again if this didn't work out, especially not on such short notice.

His eyes narrowed, but he looked pleased. "Ah, yes… I can see that now. A very good choice. Classic. Yes I think you will do very well with yew, Mr. Dresden, very well indeed."

He still didn't move though.

He tapped the wand against his fingers. Compared to his previous stillness, the movement seemed almost extravagant. "I think you will find that yew has a strong personality. In the hands of a - pardon me here - less-skilled wandmaker it might have an unfavorable reaction with it's core."

"Core?" I asked.

Ollivander frowned.

"You didn't use a core? What sort of channeling method do you use then?" he asked, with a look somewhere between affronted and interested.

"Runes." I replied, a little thickly. I don't know why. He was obviously much older than me, but somehow it reminded me of having someone to teach. Or someone to talk to about magic. How long had it been since I'd had that? I spent all of my time trying to keep things under wraps, or explaining the basics to people so they didn't get killed, I sometimes forgot how much I loved it all.

"Interesting. Very primitive, but interesting." Ollivander murmured, then he seemed to come back to himself and pressed the wand into my hands. "Try the unicorn hair. I had you pegged for dragon heartstring, but it _can_ be _so_ temperamental...

I was at the point where I barely blinked at the mention of unicorn hair. Why not? Why couldn't they harvest unicorn hair? And why shouldn't it have some amazing, magic-channeling properties that I wasn't aware of and had never been able to make use of? We had stepped through a fire into a magical shopping mall, and owls delivered their mail. So why not? I'm not one to judge.

I looked down at the wand as he pressed it into my right hand. Well. 80/20 shot, wasn't it?

It felt strange. The difference between holding it instead of my staff was like the difference between a piece of beach glass and a piece of sharply sparkling crystal. But...

"Go on. Give it a wave." He sounded almost excited.

"A wave?" I did 'give it a wave' and a handful of sickly blue sparks spurted out.

"Interesting... _fascinating_." Ollivander breathed. "Wait here." He toddled off towards another row.

I glanced back at my three mouseketeers. Dumbledore looked up from his communion with the various species of wand polish littering one of the "aisle-caps" to give me a bland, serene look of friendliness, whereas the teens grinned back at me. Well, at least _someone_ was getting something out of the Ollivander experience.

I heard the aforementioned Ollivander shuffling at the far corner of the shop, and Ron's trainer scuffing along the floor… and I heard a fly buzz by the door… and so it went on, shuffling and scuffling and buzzing, but mostly silence. For what _must have been_ a week and a half.

I mean. Alright. I get it. I amble around Chicago in a full-length leather duster. I have a pack of college-age werewolf groupies. I carry a wizard's staff. So I understand the value of drama, of making an entrance, of leaving a lasting impression… but _come on._ Really.

"Perhaps I was wrong Mr. Dresden. Yew, definitely, but perhaps we should give the heartstring a chance… I don't think you'd be suited to phoenix feather at all, but then again… what _kind_ of fire…? that really is the question..." Ollivander said as he ghosted back to the register area.

"Sure, whatever you…" I never finished the sentence because there was an explosion. A really _loud_ explosion. Then people started screaming. You know the deal. I didn't even have enough time to wonder why this always happens to me.

My first instinct was to run out the door, guns blazing, but suddenly Dumbledore was On, capital 'O.' He had his wand out before I'd blinked and was at the door, covering all the angles of approach. Thank god it was such a small store. And in hindsight, rushing out there was a terrible idea; I didn't have my staff or blasting rod, or even my shield bracelet, or pentacle… We had yet to determine whether these wand things would work, and, honestly, call me a phallocentric Neanderthal all you want, but they seemed a little too _tiny_ to do anything really worthwhile.

"Miss Granger." Dumbledore spoke without turning his head "Use the portkey, I will investigate."

Oh yeah. I knew that tone. It was the tone of someone used to commanding unquestioning obedience. The tone of a military commander, or, I realized somewhat uncomfortably, the tone _I_ use when in a dangerous situation and I'm the only one that knows what's going on. (Which is most of the time.)

Another explosion came from what sounded like the other end of the street.

I saw a rather unexpected flash of rebellion on Miz Granger's face. Dumbledore apparently caught it too. "I do not have time to argue Miss Granger. You are both underage and I cannot properly look after both you and defend innocent bystanders."

He then shot out the door, without a glance behind him. He was surprisingly fast for someone who looked so old.

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other.

"Hey kids, I'm the last person to say 'yeah, let's turn tail and run,' but it doesn't make any sense for us to be a liabili…"

I was cut off by a high boyish scream from across the street.

 _Oh crap._

Ron was beckoning towards a blond boy perhaps a year or two younger through the window. But of course, the kid would have to cross the street...

I would have told him off, but _I_ didn't know what to do. Small surprise the kids didn't. I heard something _roar_. _Oh this was bad._

I glanced over at Mr. Ollivander, somehow knowing he would be there. Because he was the sort of person that always, inevitably, pops up at exactly the wrong time.

He shrugged, giving me a 'what do you expect _me_ to do?' look. _Dammit_. Chaotic neutral. Just because they're friendly doesn't mean they're useful. Gets me every time.

All at the same time: I heard the glass crash, Hermione shriek, and both they both shouted " _Protego"_ and a pair of icy blue globes of force expanded out in front of us, the glass _plinking_ delicately against them like a shower of raindrops. Shields. _Cool_. Cooler than mine, I realized, frowning.

Then came the long, low rumble of something that sounded like a sentient Mack truck. If a Mack truck had somehow just stubbed its toe on an iceberg. What's more I saw horrified recognition on Hermione's face. _I_ might not know what was about to hit us, but I was willing to wager my good name and my favorite pair of boxers that she did.

"Ron!" She screamed "We have to go _now_!"

Ron hesitated, looking out across the street. The boy from before was no longer visible.

She whipped out a little compass on a chain, holding out it out towards us as a bolt of red light crashed through the gaping hole in the glass. Ron jerked back, but then held out his hand to shush her, pulled out his wand and edged slightly forward, a look of intense concentration on his face. " _Wyrd oft nereð unfaégne eorl þonne his ellen déah **."***_ he stopped, a stunned look coming over his face. "They have a troll."

"Yes, Ron…" she sounded almost hysterical by that point "...I _know_ they have a troll. An Albigensian Mountain Troll to be very, unnecessarily, precise. It's a _troll_. Let's _go_."

Odd. I hadn't taken the kid for someone who'd be easily frightened.

The shop across from us got hit with a shower of green sparks, which made the glass shatter from a thousand different points instead of only one.

Ron began walking back. "Well, the aurors have already showed up. That's where all the stray stunners are coming from. Hmm. Maybe they had Lockhart train 'em. I don't see Dumbledore though..."

"Ron!" She shrieked again. He ducked at that, but apparently not fast enough, because he slumped over as if he'd been switched off. She _leapt_ over a little hill of boxes to get to him.

She was bending over him, taking his pulse, hissing "Ronald, you _arse_ …" and then, well, what always happens happened.

It looked like an ogre. The sort of indeterminate brown color of gum on the sidewalk, with huge overhanging brows that probably had nothing to do with how stupid it actually was. Yup. Definitely an ogre. Great. So, I was guessing this kind was magic-resistant too, from the way that Miz Granger was staring up at the both of us (me and the troll,) temporarily stunned. Then, like a flash her wand was out, a bright blue bolt hitting one of its eyes. It screamed and stomped its foot, tipping over the table by the door and sending boxes and boxes of wands flying. It smashed its foot through the door window - the only remaining piece of glass in the entire store that had managed to stay intact - almost as if to make a point.

I looked at the scant couple of feet between this twelve foot tall creature and the teenagers curled together on the floor and did what any self-respecting bleeding-heart with a messiah complex would do. I shot off towards the far side of the room, bellowing, in order to distract it.

Fortunately, trolls/ogres seem to be very stupid in both worlds. So all of us survived my extremely ill-advised attempt at heroism.

"Mr. Dresden, I wouldn't recommend taking on a full-grown mountain troll without a wand." Ollivander said evenly, dryly, (safe over behind his register.) I thought I caught a faint shimmer in the air in front of him.

I was about ready to swear at him, but I looked over, and floating by my side was a slim, dark twig of wood, perhaps measuring a little over a foot. It was longer than the other. Sturdier-looking. I didn't take any of that in consciously of course. What happened was more along the lines of Ollivander looking at me pointedly and me just flailing forward and grabbing it, hoping to force whatever power through it I could.

So the feeling caught me entirely by surprise. It was almost like being drunk. Like I'd shot up with magic and it spread through my arm into my head and out throughout the rest of me until I didn't exist. My entire body - well, not really my body, but you're not exactly allowed to say something metaphysical like _soul_ anymore are you? - felt light and wobbly.

A virtual waterfall of gold sparks shot out of the wand - no comments please by the way, I've had enough comments over the years from Freudians who think they understand the whole staff thing - which, again, fortunately, had the beneficial side effect of distracting the troll.

" _Forzare_!" I roared. I had no idea what kind of spells they used with these things, or if I could make them work for me, and I wasn't about to dither around trying to find out.

The troll flew back, crashing through the right doorpost. I looked down at the wand in my hand. _Neat_ , I thought. _I could get used to this._

The troll looked around dazedly, and I gave myself a brief pat on the back as I walked back over to the dream team.

What I failed to realize of course was that my ahem… _resounding_ success with the troll would attract other attention.

I know. I know. I suck at this. Honestly though, I'm a private investigator. I tried to avoid pitched battles if at all possible. And when I do get into fights it's usually with demons and other nasties that don't exactly think the same way we do. To quote one of the Alphas, demons are usually just all 'bow before my awesome, otherworldly might mortal and let me eat you' and I come back with something snappy like: "Ah, yeah, sorry, I'm going to have to pass on that" and then somebody gets blasted. It's pretty straightforward.

Guerilla warfare in a foreign country with no idea of what was going on… not so much.

"Oi! Over here!" I heard a rather deep, gravelly voice shout, and saw a rather dumpy shadow appear in front of the store.

Now, I don't consider myself to be an expert in semiotics, but usually people in big black cloaks with masks on spells serious weirdness, even in a world where all wizards apparently dress like Elton John.

So I ducked. Turns out I was really _really_ glad I did. A line of electric green sliced past where my head had been the moment before. I learned what that color meant later. I'm really glad I didn't know then.

"Ventas _Servitas!"_ I bellowed and the short man in the black dress and a taller, thicker one that had appeared behind him were both thrown back. A third one ran in.

" _Stupefy_!" I heard Miss Granger cast from behind me, and he collapsed in a flash of red light.

I glanced behind me to see that Ollivander had disappeared. And Miss Granger was gasping for air, looking furious. In the half second between looking back and turning my head back outwards, she shot two curses out, pinning short and nasty to the ground and grazing tall and ugly, who took cover behind a barrel of pickled eel tails. Two sickles an ounce. And who says my life isn't interesting?

"Macnair!" She snarled, moving forward to check the approach to the store. Nothing happened and I then realized that it wasn't a spell, it was a _name._

Damn. Wasn't she a little young to have archenemies? And this was _me_ talking.

I glanced over at the troll, which wasn't looking anywhere near as delirious as I would have liked anymore. "Look, I hate to say this, but if you have a way to get out… we should do it now."

"You need to wake him up." She mumbled. "I can't wake him up. He hit his head and I've never done it like this…"

"You mean you can't… portkey, or whatever?" I stopped, we didn't have time to be going through this. I didn't know what the limitations were, and she didn't have time to tell me. _Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT_ _._ I was guessing transporting him wasn't a good idea, or perhaps it wasn't even possible. Even apparition seemed to require, if not assistance, some sort of participation.

"He'll get splinched." She said, sounding horrified at the thought "He might even be separated from his body, like a… like a…" she looked close to sobbing "Dementor's kiss." She seemed to get ahold of herself. "He has a pulse, and I tried _ennervate_ ," which told me precisely nothing "...so I think it's probably not _safe_ for him to wake up." "I don't suppose you know how to apparate?" She looked up at me hopefully and I shook my head, and added 'apparate' to my list of things to ask about if I ever got us out of everything alive "If Ollivander has a floo, that would be safer…" Hermione was wringing her hands.

"A floo?" I asked.

But then a wild, crackling purple slashed through the air, and Hermione never got the chance to explain the finer points of wizarding travel here. I moved to push her out of the way the moment I felt it. Which worked out, because it had actually been aimed at me. Well, technically, it still got me. I felt a terrible, expanding pain bloom in my left hand. It was like it had been crushed and blown apart and set on fire all at once. I looked away from the blackening skin as soon as I saw it. It looked to be half gone, withering and crumbling to ash, and it continued to burn as I hunched down into a crouch, trying to make myself an at least _slightly_ more difficult target.

The tall one - Macnair was it? - was moving forward again, shooting silvery bolts that exploded in the air.

" _Protego_!" Hermione shouted.

I jerked my head towards Ron. "Move him back! Now!" I roared. "I'll cover us."

I moved, trusting the girl to move him back as I pressed forward. I didn't have my shield bracelet, a handy little thing, or my rings which collect all the energy from the movement of my hands and redirects the force when I need it. But I could use the same principle.

" _Tensio_." I growled, watching the silver things splatter against my new shield. This Macnair guy was really beginning to piss me off. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hermione floating Ron towards the back of the store. I didn't really even have time to blink at the notion that he was simply _floating_ in the air and she wasn't even batting an eyelash at the effort.

And then of course, the troll. The troll decided that was a great time to get up and have a little post-nap workout.

It rumbled -or yawned, how should I know?- and threw a large marble bookend at me. I ducked. It came at me with a right hook. I ducked again, tripping over on a wand box.

" _Stupefy_!" Hermione was up shouting at another reverse-KKK guy at the window. He thunked down on the pavement like a brick. I _had_ to learn that one.

" _Forzare_!" I yelled, not quite in time, and the wave of force hit the troll's arm, wrenching it back. The troll still managed to toss the table at me, slamming it into my left leg. I yelled and gasped as I felt my shin _crack_. I probably said a few words that little Miz Granger had never heard before and I only hoped she didn't speak Italian. Or Middle Dutch.

The troll had managed to regain its balance and was stomping forward.

"Oh, for god's sake!" I groaned, voice hoarse. Why me? Why, I meant, besides the fact that I've been screaming at it for the last five minutes? It managed to clip my hand with the next little end table it threw, making it feel like it was about to fall off. In fact, by that point, I'd have been grateful if it _had_ fallen off. It's true that you can fight through the pain, and sometimes you don't even notice when you're injured, but this was definitely not one of those times.

 _Screw PETA,_ I thought, and yelled: " _Fuego_!" Pointing myself in the general direction of the troll.

Fortunately while trolls seem to be resistant to magic, they're also fairly flammable. It caught fire, spreading from its filthy loincloth to its rough grey skin and hairless scalp. I tried to feel bad about it's low bleating, which probably passed for screaming. I didn't really do very well; I was pretty distracted by the broken leg.

Then another scream, out in the street. I edged out towards the window. God I hate being me sometimes.

The little blonde kid from before was being dragged out of the apothecary two shops down, by _another_ troll.

"Hey ugly!" I shouted at the troll, hopping over to the window, trying desperately to think what I could do from that range, without the ability to run, and without any useful knowledge of these creatures besides the fact that that really didn't like to be yelled at.

I was guessing that setting the boy on fire was probably a poor idea though.

"It's me!" He shouted "Colin. It's me!"

I frowned, nonplused, not really sure how that was supposed to help, but Hermione was behind me in a flash. "Accio Colin!" She _commanded_ and the boy flew toward us. Well, flew towards her, knocking her over into the mess of a floor.

The troll, naturally, headed toward us, bringing a handful of KKK creeps along behind it.

I didn't know what else to do. I stepped out.

" _Fuego_!" I yelled, voice hoarse, sending a wall of fire towards the troll. Hopefully it wouldn't kill any of the humans. Actually, come to think of it, I had no idea what the laws were here. So maybe not. They'd already let an ogre try to pulp a little kid after all.

"Fiendfyre!" One of them shrieked. The troll roared and stumbled into one of them, arms flailing. One of the black robes threw their arm out and half a second later the troll's throat was slashed open. He landed, completely crushing the one closest to him, sending up a spray of sparks. The fire leaped up, grabbing onto the troll-killer's black cloak, racing up around him.

Was it responding differently because of the wand? Because they were humans? I had no idea, and had no time to find out. I dodged a pink light-bullet, orb thing, from somewhere over to the right.

"Kid!" I roared at Hermione "We've got to get out of here. Now. Or I'm going to get you both killed. How does that thing work?"

I looked back, she was already dragging the Colin boy, and Ron was floating behind her. I concentrated on the shield, the Macnair guy was still in decent form, and was probably getting backup from all the KKK creeps who weren't on fire. (I couldn't really see with all the smoke. The fire was still going, sort of taking on a life of its own. It _had_ to stop, I thought. Otherwise it was going to set the whole alley on fire.)

 _Crap_.

Sure enough, Macnair was over there, I could now see someone beside him and the shimmer of a shield in front of him. The front of the shop came crashing down, and I dove out of the way, feeling doubly thankful for my shield. I cast a short spell to keep the dust in the air longer, hoping to give us some cover. Fortunately the front had collapsed and provide a sort of hunker-down wall, which I don't think he'd planned on.

Isn't it nice when the bad guys are stupider than you? Wish it happened more often.

"Miss Granger. Get the kid out of here." I said, pulling myself back.

She nodded. I didn't even need to explain. It made no sense for _all_ of us to die.

"Touch the compass. Come _on_." she gasped to the little boy, whose head was lolling, but who was still semi-conscious. She apparently thought better of it and put the chain around his neck, touching it herself. Good god, was that _blood_ trickling out of the corner of his mouth? But I had no time to wonder.

" _Mustelidae!_ " She shouted.

I looked over at Ron, who thunked to the ground about three (very painful) yards away from me.

A desperate thought occurred to me. I could pull Ron and myself into the Nevernever.

It wasn't great, but I could do it. In fact, it was about the only thing I _could_ do from there. I didn't have an escape potion, and god knew the boy couldn't drink it anyway…

So out of the frying pan and into the fire. Or rather, the freezing wastes of Faerieland. Landing in Kuala Lampur and having to hitchhike back sounded better than waiting around for the troll and the magical crazies to make their way through. Well, provided that nothing ate us while we were in the Nevernever.

I glanced behind me, I heard what sounded like a troll moving the rubble around.

Needless to say, I opened a portal into the Nevernever in record time. I leapt through the doorway between worlds, dragging Ron with me and bracing myself for whatever was on the other side.

And then nothing. A grand, blank waste, full of dead dirt. Somehow like the blindingly white room from Willy Wonka. Or a flat, still desert. Or the moon. I looked down at Ron, who was still snoozing peacefully. Or it would have looked peaceful if the boy hadn't been coated in blood and grime. God I hoped it was my blood and not his. Speaking of which, I looked down at my hand. I quelled the initial wave of nausea that came up when I looked at the red, white, black mess that was, or had been, my hand. It seemed to have stopped burning. I continued staring at it for what was probably quite a while, stupidly wondering why I wasn't in shock yet.

Of course, eventually I realized I'd just backed myself into a corner. I certainly couldn't head back to Ollivander's storefront. And I couldn't leave Ron here and go investigate. And I had a broken leg and an unconscious teenager on my hands so I couldn't exactly pop out of the Nevernever somewhere else with guns, - or wands, I supposed - blazing.

I could, I supposed, just wait. Wait, and step back through to Ollivander's shop after everything had been cleared up. But time flows differently in the Nevernever. I could wait for hours in this place and arrive with this Macnair jerk still lobbing magical grenades at me.

Still, it seemed like the safest choice. Though that did beg the question: was it really as safe in this blank space as it looked? Wherever there's magical energy, something will appear to feed of it, whether it's a unicorn or a magical weed, or wyldfae, or some other thing yet unknown to Bob and man, there's something there. It's practically a law of the universe.

But not this place. There was nothing.

So what, I wondered, had happened here?

* * *

 **Author's note:** Ron's bit bothered me so much I went back and edited it. It shouldn't really affect the rest of the story, but is original role as simpleton who nearly gets them all killed really didn't seem to be in character. It was just lazy. In the books he can be an idiot, true, but he's also got a good sense of strategy and if he knew something that could potentially help the situation with minimal risk to himself... he'd probably do it. (Just because your good idea doesn't work doesn't mean it wasn't still a good idea.)

And I'm being lazy again, because I just picked a line from Beowulf for his spell.

 _Translation:_

 _*Fate often spares the hero not fated to die when his courage endures._

(Wyrd oft nereð unfaégne eorl þonne his ellen déah.)

Ancient epics often served a mnemonic purpose (for example: the Iliad and the Tain Bo Cuilange with regard to place names.) Skalds/bards/druids are the most likely source of a pre-written magical tradition, so why wouldn't there be mnemonics or even actual spells hidden away in the classics? (*she says, continuing to rationalize her laziness...*)

...and if you don't think Ron would have suddenly been overtaken by a mania for obscure battle spells over the summer, I would ask... how many teenage boys have you known?


	4. Ch 4 - Mab's Ex (Potter)

_So_.

Murphy glanced back and did a once-over of the living room and kitchen. No messages on the phone. (Because Harry's phone didn't take messages, because he lived like a Neanderthal…) Gun back in holster; safety on, safety _on_. Coffee maker turned off, and... _crap,_ what was she supposed to do about the cat? (She was of the opinion that it looked like a a very small grey yeti, but Dresden had assured her that it was, in actuality, a cat.) She turned towards the kid, the duster made him look like he was dressed up as Neo for Halloween. The urge to fix his hair was surprisingly strong...

Someone knocked on the door.

For some reason that left her rather wrong-footed; having someone want to come in as she was going out. Not to mention the fact that she felt rather uncomfortable answering _Harry Dresden's_ door for him at all. She _knew_ the kind of things that popped up on Dresden's doorstep, and as he'd mentioned before, his threshold wasn't exactly... robust.

But she wasn't going to hide behind the door like some awkward tween waiting for them to go away. If it was the sort of thing that could make it past her gun, it could make it through a closed door. After all, she was hardly going to invite something in. She wasn't _that_ kind of stupid. Every other kind of stupid apparently, but not that kind.

She jerked it open, startling Potter. Harry. Potter.

"Harry's not here right no…" Murphy's mouth closed as her eyes widened.

The woman at the door was... dazzling. Dazzling in an almost in a literal sense, Murphy realized, like the glare of sunlight on snow. Harry leaned forward to see what had happened, and his eyes widened, in a way comically similar to Murphy's. The lady practically _was_ a veela. He frowned, correcting himself, no, the eyes were different, more dangerous. Long white hair, frostbite-dark lips. Cat-eyes that glittered, watchful, more like the facets of an emerald than anything alive.

The cat - which had at some point during their last few moments of stunned silence stalked up to the door - _hissed_. _Fang._ _Forbidden Forest…._ he had a moment of half-there insight which slipped away, as if buried under a sudden avalanche. He looked up at the veela-thing.

"I am aware. It is for that cause that I am here." Her voice breezed past them, low and full of impersonal loathing as her gaze drifted past them.

"Well, can I get your name and take a message?" Murphy asked, smiling her sunniest blonde-bimbo smile.

The cat-eyes turned on her. "Amusing." Her tone implied that she found it anything but.

"I am called Mab." she said.

Both Harry and Murphy shivered involuntarily at her tone, but apparently they hadn't responded with appropriate levels of terror. The cat-eyes narrowed. "Queen of the Winter Fae? Ruler of the Unseelie? Lady of Arctis Tor?" She sighed "Who would have thought that Dresden's friends would be even worse read than he?"

"I know who you are." Murphy said flatly. She apparently didn't _do_ 'starstruck.' Harry kept his mouth firmly shut. He'd been ignorant often enough in his short life to know that it wasn't a great idea to advertise it.

"And I you, Lady Murphy." Mab tilted her head. It was an oddly inhuman movement. Cat-like again, or perhaps more like a wolf. She swiveled towards Harry "... _you_ however..."

Harry frowned. He felt very much like a knickknack that she wanted to pick up and examine. He set his jaw, remaining stubbornly silent. Sure, she wasn't _actually_ a veela. Probably. But there was a twinging, plucking sensation on his magic that was similar to a veela's that he didn't like.

Mab's expression didn't change, but Harry had the sensation of ice tightening and cracking around his heart. It made him feel oddly defiant. Her pupils narrowed and she wet her lips. "My first choice for Winter Knight has disappeared, squireling. And now you... _appear_ in his place. An intelligent youth would offer his name."

"Neville Longbottom." Harry replied, probably too quickly.

She actually smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. "So you _are_ mortal."

Harry was painfully aware that his confusion was drawn all over his face. Had there been any doubt?

"You can lie." She explained, and began drumming her fingers on the doorpost. Slowly. Like the thud of orc drums, Murphy thought.

Harry swallowed. There was being mouthy and then there was just being stupid. He had no doubt that this Lieutenant Murphy lady knew what she was talking about, not when everything she said had lined up with his instincts so far. If she said fairies were dangerous, they were probably dangerous. Very dangerous. "Harry Potter."

Mab raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, waiting for elucidation.

"Sorry. I'm used to the name being introduction enough." Harry felt a mad grin take over his face. He swallowed. _Why_? Why did he always have to do this, why did he always have such a gobby in the _worst_ situations?

Mab didn't say anything for a disconcertingly long time.

"Well?" She raised her eyebrows. "I have lived long ages before you both. You can tell me what I want to know, or I can stand at this threshold until you are well in your graves." Left unspoken was the idea that they might be getting to use those graves a little sooner than they'd like.

Murphy raised her eyebrows right back. "The queen of fairyland doesn't have anything better to do with her time?"

 _Dammit_. Murphy felt her entire body tighten at the look Mab gave her. She was going to get this boy killed. She was going to get _herself_ killed. Mab didn't, fortunately, stab anyone with an icicle, but simply tapped her long burgundy nails against the doorpost. Her face opened in a soft, utterly chilling smile. "Oddly enough. _No_."

"Well, we don't know what you want to know." Murphy said, trying to keep her voice even, trying to walk the fine line between belligerent and terrified. This was decidedly _not_ part of her job description. There was something deeply wrong with fairies. She wasn't sure what it was, but _something_ was wrong with them.

Mab looked amused, tilting her head "Harry Dresden stepped out of this world. Not rare in itself. But he failed to enter the Nevernever upon his departure, which _is_ uncommon strange. I require an explanation."

"No. I mean we don't _know_." Murphy said, gritting her teeth, trying not to think about how admitting that you had no useful information was probably not a great way to keep yourself alive.

"Ah… that does change things." Mab gave another one of those cold smiles. She could do a master-class for super-villains Murphy thought… Mab glanced over at Harry, then turned back to Murphy abruptly: "The paths of the Nevernever are shifting. I cannot protect you here."

That sounded suspiciously like Mab admitting that something was out of her control, that something she didn't understand was happening. Which was actually really worrying, Murphy thought. If Madam I-can-destroy-you-with-a-breath didn't have a handle on things, what hope did they have?

Still. Something didn't feel quite right. Why, after all, should she need them if they were so helpless? Unless they could be used _for_ something - Murphy glanced at Harry - which didn't sound very promising.

Oh, this was _so bad_. So bad. Dresden was never very forthcoming, but he'd been very clear about how dangerous fairies and vampires were. And werewolves. But she'd been there, done that.

So she could with fairy-woman and possibly get turned into a dog (which seemed to be Dresden's main phobia regarding fairies) or she could stay and get herself and Harry killed.

Murphy set her jaw. "We're fine thanks."

Mab looked disbelieving. "With the paths of my world now tangled up with your Chicago? Whole cities have died because of less." "A horde of _sluagh_ will be upon you before the sun rises tomorrow. What will you do, mortal?" A calculating look came over Mab's face. "What can you do, since your wizard has seen fit to keep you ignorant, helpless? ...a pretty, breakable bauble."

"Shut up." Murphy snarled, not caring or, more likely, not remembering who she was dealing with. That really had struck a nerve. Harry, Dresden, was never really forthcoming about useful -potentially life-saving, Murphy grit her teeth- information.

"...I meant no disrespect." Mab replied smoothly. "Only know that I can help you. Think of it as a boon to the wizard if you like."

"Why would you do that?" Murphy asked warily. Dresden had been pretty clear on the fact that fairies didn't really give _gifts_ per se. They were more entrapment schemes with a ribbon on top.

Mab's smile widened to something almost feral "For a favor?"

"Not that desperate." Murphy bit out.

Her expression went back to its former elegant, crystalline blankness "I thought you might say so."

Mab paused, turning, a light flashing in her eyes like a flint sparking. "You are very like him, Lady Murphy."

Mab extended her arm across the threshold, charging the air, filling it with something like the smell of ozone. The grin reappeared when she saw Murphy's face.

Mab continued to speak softly, tugging a lock of Harry's hair and pulling him forward. "All you do is according to my will and by my sufferance Lady Murphy. Be thankful that you are of more use to me as you are than a toad would be. I give you three days."

Three days until what? Until the offer of help was retracted? Until she just decided to haul them off to faerie-land and use them (well, use the kid at least... Murphy was under no illusions about her disposability) for…well, whatever she wanted them for?

Mab tilted her head, eyes closed, and Murphy watched Harry's hair knit together in an intricate Celtic-knot-looking cord. She was sure Dresden would have technical name for it, but she _really_ didn't care right then. Mab opened her eyes and said to Harry: "For when you grow desperate." To Harry's quizzical look she said: "There is power in making and unmaking. Do they not teach you this in your world Harry Potter?"

"My world?" Harry tried to look innocent. He failed of course. Didn't he always? he sighed.

Mab lifted her eyes up in half a roll, as if to say _why else would I be interested in two insignificant mortals?_ "Again child, when one is surrounded by those who cannot lie, one develops a discerning ear. Do not hide from me. You already have enemies in this land, you would do well not to make me one of them."

Harry blinked. Enemies? _How_?

Mab turned to Murphy, answering her unasked question regarding the hair-thing: "It will fare best in the hands of a wizard."

At which she turned on her heel and disappeared. It seemed Mab assumed that she and Harry were together for the duration of… whatever this was. And the more Murphy thought about it, the more obvious it was. She didn't care if this was a thirteen year old Hitler, there was no way she was leaving him to deal with all _that_ on his own. Dresden's garbled stories of Chicago-over-Chicago and stone tables and girls turning into trolls turned over in her mind. _No_.

Just _no_. No. Friggin'. Way.

Harry blinked. "Uh…"

"Uh, indeed." Murphy agreed. "Come on, let's go." She headed out towards her car, trusting Harry to follow.

Harry pulled the skull out of the gym bag instead. He wasn't sure why, Bob clearly didn't need to "see" in the normal sense. It was just that not looking at something while he was talking was even stranger than seeing a skull talk.

"What are _sluagh_?" Harry blurted out.

"Oh for godsake!" Bob exclaimed. "You're all hopeless. Hopeless ...and here I was thinking that no one could be more oblivious than Harry." Bob said. Murphy paused and turned to give him a dirty look.

Harry glared at it. "What. Are. Sluagh."

Bob slipped into his lecturing tone immediately: "They're technically _wyldfae_. Typical vengeance spirits. They travel in flocks, destroy anything they touch, that sort of thing. They reproduce using the death energies of their victims. Like a cross between vampires and fairies, though don't quote me on that. And for gods' sake stop saying their name."

"Why?" Harry asked, though he already had an uncomfortable inkling of what the answer would be. They had covered _a lot_ of dark creatures last year with Lupin.

"Because it summons them." _Stupid,_ Bob left unsaid.

"So they're here now?" Harry asked.

Bob rolled his lights. "Do we look like we've been set upon by a host of life-eating fairies Potter? Not all summonings are immediate. _Obv_ iously."

"So when she was "warning" us... " Harry began.

"She was probably summoning them. I don't know who else would have at least." Bob said. "Regardless, she's got pretty good deniability; they're mostly just considered pests in Faerie."

Harry raised his eyebrows; he didn't want to know what they didn't consider _mere_ pests then.

"And the hair thing?" Murphy asked.

"An elflock." Bob replied.

"A what?" Harry asked. Well, given the context, it was pretty obvious that it was a lock of hair having to do with an elf, but that didn't explain very much.

Bob gave a long-suffering sigh. " _This is that very Mab, that plats the manes of horses in the night, and bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, which once untangled, much misfortune bodes..._ "

"Oh." Murphy said "Romeo and Juliet." She mistook Harry's look of befuddlement: "What? I took high school English."

Bob ignored her. "Yes, well, elflocks can have different purposes, they aren't always strictly unfortunate, but Shakespeare had the right idea, mostly. Though... it may just be that receiving one indicates that you're involved with fairies, which almost always _is_ unfortunate…"

"So what does this one do?" Harry asked, feeling oddly bemused rather than irritated.

"No idea." Bob said breezily. "Depends on the weaving."

"Well that isn't very much help." Harry said, his tone flat, again resisting the urge to just drop something heavy on the… thing.

Bob was unaffected by his disapproval: "I suppose you'll find out when you're finally desperate enough to try _anything_. That also might be a reason they're considered to be unlucky" A grin coloured his voice: "Also, I should warn you that we're at a magical nexus, charged by a local ley-line. It's one reason Harry's life is so interesting. ...and Mab's entrance and exit have now pretty much pushed us over any reasonable activation energy."

Murphy sighed. "Which means?"

"You'll probably be encountering an alarming number of coincidences within the next five minutes." Bob supplied, sounding smug.

"What sort of coincidences?" Murphy asked.

"Haven't the foggiest." Bob chirped. "Should be entertaining though."

"Quite right." The ficus next to Harry's neighbor's door spoke in an accent that was vaguely Scottish, and even more vaguely English with a little bit of Welsh, and, so, ended up as some sort of indeterminate British. "I do my best anyway."

The ficus rapidly expanded into a tall blond man, wearing a Green Lantern t-shirt and moss-colored hipster jeans. Bob groaned. In recognition? Murphy wondered. She sighed. As annoying as the skull was, she felt the same way. She glanced to Harry. He looked wary. Well, come to think of it, she hadn't seen the boy _not_ looking wary yet. Perhaps it was better to say that he looked _warier_.

The blonde man flashed her a dazzling smile. "I see you're not going to be doing introductions Lady Murphy. Obviously, I mean you no harm. Somewhat less obviously, I thought your little chat with the Ice Bitch might convince you that you'd like some help that has fewer strings attached."

"Ice Bitch?" Murphy said, voice flat, and full of disbelief.

He shot her another smile. "Yes well, have you ever known anyone who called their ex a _nice_ name? ...and the whole 'queen of air and darkness' thing is a little bit passe, so..."

"Not interested." Murphy blurted. She was guessing what with otherworldly beauty and the slight air of complete sociopathy that this was a fairy too. Whatever it was, they clearly didn't need to be messing with something that had been _masquerading as a **ficus**. _ A _ficus_.

He frowned, almost pouting, like some heartthrob who has unexpectedly failed to pick up a girl. "You won't even hear me out? I'm not even trying to make a deal." he whined.

"I've never heard of a fairy who doesn't try to cut deals. You _can't_ do anything for free. It's a rule of the universe. Harry _said_." Murphy kept her gaze level.

The man shrugged, as if her ignorance and/or disbelief wasn't his problem. "I do as I like."

"So you'd just up and decide to "help" us out of the goodness of your heart?" Murphy raised a skeptical eyebrow.

His grin widened "Well. Not exactly."

"Then why?" Murphy asked. If she had known fairies were this annoying...

"It'll piss Mab off? I like seeing that little twitch go off in Medb's eye?" His eyes twinkled, green and flippant like light on the sea. He shrugged. "I'm free this week?" He laughed at Murphy's incredulous look.

"Well. That explains precisely nothing." Murphy muttered.

He nodded. "Aye, that's true." "Like your little doohickey there by the way." He nodded towards Bob, who Harry was still holding, and slipped into a deeper, somehow older, tone of voice: "Will ye honor me Spirit?"

Bob did not seem amused, in fact his tone was almost sour as he said: "Tam Lin."

"What?" Harry and Murphy said at the same time.

"His name" Bob said slowly, as if trying to give them extra time to get the idea through their thick skulls "...is Tam Lin. Former Knight of Winter."

Murphy knew enough at least to think that that didn't sound good.

'Tam' interrupted "I've also gone by 'true Tom,' Thomas Rhymer. Bercilak. Bredbeddle. _Fear Glas_. Lord of Whiteland. Ruler of the High Wilds. Jack..."

"Jack?" Murphy mumbled, a little shell-shocked.

"Yes well, a little pedestrian I'll admit. Let's go with Tam. Simple, easy for you post-Gaelic louts to say." Tam shot her another winning smile.

Bob cleared his throat. "A freeholding lord. He rules the Sìth, aka the _daoine sídhe,_ aka the free Fair Folk."

"Eh, debatable, most of them like me no better than they liked Mab. Besides, if I rule them they're not exactly free are they?" Tam pointed out.

Bob ignored him "... and is, to date, the only knight of Winter to ever escape Mab's clutches alive."

 _That_ made Murphy perk up a bit.

Harry finally spoke up. "Who, exactly, are they? The _uh_...'free fair folk'?" he asked.

"A kind of wyldfae." Bob supplied. Unhelpfully.

Tam made a scoffing noise. "You've been bound for too long Spirit, if you're reduced to that kind of trash talking. Might as well call the _Tylwyth Teg_ wyldfae."

Harry frowned. "And who are…"

"The Welsh Fae." Bob and Tam said at once. "Well, not Welsh exactly…" Tam corrected himself immediately. "More that their seat of power overlaps Wales…"

Bob made a disgusted sound and continued. "Don't confuse him. You know humans are easily confused. They're called "free" because they belong to neither the Summer nor Winter courts, and so are separate signatories to the Unseelie Accords. Both Summer and Winter have allowed it because they're not really worth bothering with." There was a definite biting, malicious quality to Bob's tone there.

Bob continued, voice sly: "Tam Lin's people have been _saor sioga_ ever since the war he instigated against his former lady and queen."

Tam winced. "That wasn't _entirely_ me. But come on, it was exciting, admit it." he added, as if starting a rebellion was on the same level as a good prank.

Harry was used to only being this lost when Hermione was talking. "Er, Unseelie Accords?" he asked, blinking, as if by doing it enough he could somehow see the situation more clearly.

"The Geneva Convention for magical beings." Tam supplied breezily.

"That is the most ridiculous analogy I've ever heard." Bob complained.

"I thought you didn't want to confuse him." Tam shot back.

Murphy frowned, thinking over what he'd said. It was certainly encouraging that someone had the power to defy Mab, even, potentially, useful. But he did make her wonder..."Entirely you?" she asked "Who else were you going to blame it on?"

Tam's brow wrinkled. "" _Blame?"_ That's a bit harsh. Remember, I can't lie, poppet. Mab broke her word. To her great misfortune, I might add. Consider me the reason that she's now on the straight and narrow. She's quite careful now." His grin bared his teeth that time.

Murphy made a choked sound at that. She was glad she'd never seen Mab when she _hadn't_ been on the straight and narrow then.

Tam shot her another high-wattage smile, as if knowing exactly what she was thinking... "If we have time later I'll have to tell you the story."

"I still don't understand." Murphy said stubbornly. "How can you do anything without an agreement?"

"We would have an agreement. That I would help you. And I do get something out of it. Just not from you. I'm very good at finding loopholes." He grinned again.

"Loopholes." Murphy said flatly.

"Yes. Loopholes." Tam's tone was _ridiculously_ affable. "Look, I don't see that you have a lot of other options, _a stor_."

Murphy turned to look at Harry. "Yes there are. We're going to McAnally's."

"Which is neutral territory under the Accords." Bob added, for some reason deciding to finally mention that little fact.

Something disconcertingly hungry flashed in Tam's eyes. "If you can make it McAnally's, be my guest."

"Or we could stay here." Harry suggested, though he hated the very sound of it. He wasn't sure about the whole 'threshold rule' or why Lieutenant Murphy's place was better (supposedly,) but a tiny Chicago apartment sounded like the worst place in the world, barring Knockturn Alley maybe, to be under siege.

Tam inclined his head. "You could."

"He's stalling you, you idiots." Bob sighed.

Murphy winced. She had known that. And she had gone along with it, because it had meant that she hadn't had to make a decision, hadn't had to fully refuse the offer of help. It seemed so foolish to make a deal with a fairy when she didn't even know what she'd be up against, alone - well, not completely alone, she had her Luger, and if worst came to worst she could have Harry try to shrink something else... she almost smiled - if she didn't. She _knew_ not to make deals. But to _never_ make deals? She'd learned to not say "never." But how desperate, exactly, did you need to be? How did you know when you were close enough to death to justify it?

Was she jumping at shadows? (Which actually, when you thought about it, wasn't always a bad idea, because shadows usually belong to something…) Add to that, she had no reference point for any of this. Not really, having Harry, Dresden, point her at something, saying all the while _'silver bullets'_ or ' _Yay! Chainsaw, great idea_ ' was one thing, this was another. With this, by the time she realized how serious things _really_ were they'd probably be dead. It made the whole thing rather less exciting.

Tam's smile moved to his eyes, flitting and winking back and forth. "I can neither confirm nor deny that claim." "Though you might be interested to know that Mab pretty severely weakened your threshold and this is not the best place to make a stand against the spirits of the dead."

Murphy's eyes narrowed. "Spirits of the dead? That's not what Bob called them."

" _Bob_?" Tam's eyes twinkled, almost _sparking_ with delight as he looked down at the skull. "They call you _Bob_?"

"Should I tell you a few of Mab's pet names for _you_?" Bob asked sourly "...and what's with the Gaelic?" Bob asked "You're not even _from_ that area. You sound like a hipster from Dublin."

Tam shrugged. "Gaelic is really the only one of the old tongues that isn't dead. Well. Besides _Basque._ There's no power in a language that you can order a venti double mocha frappucino in."

"I did ask a question." Murphy said, tapping her foot pointedly, her eyes bored. Though she was starting to wonder how fairies would respond to bullets. Probably wouldn't kill them… she wouldn't have to feel too guilty...

Tam pulled up short, his expression suddenly flattening, settling. "That you did." "Ah… spirits of the dead… well they aren't, not _exactly_ …. it's all very metaphysical and, well, magical. She could probably explain it to you..." He trailed off, evidently continuing down his own line of thought in silence.

"She?" Harry asked, something - either in tone of Tam's voice, the cant of his shoulders - told him that he definitely wasn't referring to Mab.

"The witch-queen." Bob said flatly. Harry turned to the skull, dumbfounded, wondering if he was _enjoying_ being so deliberately unhelpful.

Tam's face, though, broke into what looked like a genuinely delighted smile, he put a hand on Harry's shoulder, breaking through the threshold _again_. "He speaks of my lady, _a runsearc_ , Muirgen. I'll tell you of her too, if time permits." "You know…" he said thoughtfully, looking down at Harry "...she would like _you_. Been a long time since she palavered with another wizard."

A wave of wild, irrational hope washed over Harry… until he thought better of it. Experience should have taught him by now that most wizards/witches were, in fact, bad news.

There was a loud crack of thunder and they all looked up to the quickly darkening sky. It hadn't exactly been a _nice_ day before (it was Chicago after all) but it had definitely taken a turn for the worse.

Tam turned to Murphy. "Truly Lady Murphy, I mean you no harm, you know I cannot lie… I _can_ contend with the _sluagh_ and get you out of here."

Murphy gripped the handle of her gun and nodded towards the sky. "That's their calling card I take it?'

Tam shifted his head from side to side in an ambivalent sort of way. "Not exactly, but yes, they are coming."

"One at ten o'clock." Bob offered, in the even, unconcerned tones of a weatherman.

"What? Oh fu…" Murphy shrieked as something shot down like a ball of lightning, expanding on impact, clawing at her, drowning her, suffocating her all at once. The gun went off, once, twice, without any conscious decision on her part to fire. She opened her eyes (she hadn't realized they'd been closed.) The sound kept repeating in her ears. In truth, the only thing she'd been certain of was that Harry and the cat were behind her. She'd had a better than fifty/fifty shot of hitting the fairy.

Tam looked back and her, unconcerned and moved to kick the… _thing_ over.

If she had ever seen a naked vampire, she would have recognized the similarities immediately. It was skeletal, corpse-colored, with hands and feet that seemed too long. Too strong, she shuddered. Had it gotten anywhere her throat? She wasn't sure, but she still almost felt its hands - slimy, rough, too soft though… the softness of decay - around her neck. She had a brief, insane, moment where she wondered whether that was her father. Whether that was what her father looked like now... that was what she'd meant…

But she swallowed and looked at Tam, feeling almost triumphant. Guns could kill them. Or at least stop them. _That_ she could work with. _That_ she could handle. She glanced over at Harry. His face was white, nose narrow, and he looked like he was about to pass out. She looked for another long moment watching his deep, even breaths, his almost closed eyes. She shook her head, more at herself than anything. No, he wasn't going to pass out.

"So that's a _sluagh_?" Murphy asked, trying to take deep, even breaths herself.

Tam shook his head. "They haven't really got a name. People started calling them that, but sluagh just means "host," "horde," though I suppose you could call it a _marb_ _án... '_ corpse' doesn't quite cover it..." He mused.

"Not really interested right now." Murphy grunted. "I'm sure there are more coming."

"Many more." Tam agreed, looking almost sad. "Lady Murphy…" Either Tam was a superior actor, or he actually had something riding on the outcome, because he looked truly desperate.

"Don't do it Karrin." Bob said.

"Stay out of things that don't concern you, you little _shite_." Tam hissed, lunging towards Harry, grabbing at the skull. Murphy only had time to think that there might be more of a grudge there than either of them had admitted.

Harry didn't exactly think. He always tried to explain - afterward, whenever anything had happened, like a troll, or a spontaneously-combusting Voldemort, or a spelunking adventure, or his brief career as a vigilante - that there wasn't always _time_ to think. He just reacted.

The staff came up, his mouth opened….

" _Stupefy."_ A cloud of red light burst out of the staff, cascading over Tam's face. He slumped unceremoniously on the welcome mat.

And that was that.

Harry winced. " _Bugger_." Looked out at the sky. Looked at Murphy "Sorry."

Murphy shrugged, backing inside the door, wondering whether it was better to shut it, or to have the visibility. Or perhaps they might be better off outside. If they could find flowing water… "He was the asshole who charged towards you."

"I meant… uh…" Harry flushed "...for the cursing actually, but… uh…"

She couldn't help it, she just started laughing. And laughing. And laughing. After a moment it occurred to her that she'd probably better stop while she _could_ stop. "It's…" she took a deep gulp of air "...it's fine, kid. I hear much worse than that when the coffee machine's not working at work."

She started to drag Tam inside. She wasn't sure whether the sluagh _,_ marban _, whatever,_ things could do anything to him, but figured it would be pretty unsporting to leave him there in order to find out. After all, _he_ hadn't been the one to call them. Probably.

Harry watched this process stupidly for a moment. _Oh right._ He was a wizard.

"Wait, oh…" Harry said "... _wingardium leviosa."_

Tam shot up to about the height of her chest, and floated there for a moment, arms flopping. He jerked suddenly sideways, into the door frame, making a very large cracking noise. Harry winced.

"Er… yeah, not the right spell really..." Harry considered for a moment, frowning, thinking back to the year before, then twisted the staff " _Mobilicorpus"_

Murphy rolled her eyes. "Don't trouble yourse…"

And then another one was at the door. The gun fired. Murphy watched herself shoot three more. Two went down. They weren't _staying_ down though. They didn't bleed. A blob of red light hit the third one. No effect.

It reached forward to throttle her again. It was too hard to fight them, she'd never thought about it, but she'd never tried hand-to-hand with something that couldn't feel pain.

" _Knidos_!" Harry shouted from behind her and she felt a shock travel along her body and the closest marban-thing let go. She shot it too. And then another one. Some strangely detached part of her mind wondered what they were going to do about all the corpses when they were done. The next one grabbed her hair, vaulting itself up against the lintel of the door, and that detached feeling shattered into a million tiny pieces. She might have screamed. Or it might have been Harry.

And then, as if things weren't going badly enough, somewhere one of the things figured out what was doing them all the damage, and twisted the gun from her hand. It got a bullet for its trouble, but the gun was then over where the ficus had been, so that hardly mattered did it?

Harry was putting a lot of effort into not panicking. And to not passing out. Fire. Fire should work on just about everything. And gun powder, that could explode...

 _"Plosio_!" he shouted at the one that had taken the gun from Lieutenant Murphy. It burst into flame. Too-bright, fluorescent orange flame. _Cool_. He did the same to any of the others that had noticeable bullet-holes. He'd worry about magical exhaustion later.

Murphy dove for the gun. She had it in her grip before a pair of them lifted her off the ground, kicking and screaming like a little girl. She really didn't care by that point. It was like all anyone's worst zombie nightmares come true, except completely unromantic. They were literally _dead_. Whatever they actually _were_ , it _seemed_ like she was looking at her own cold dead corpse. She resisted the urge to slump to the ground and kicked one of them. Hard. Of course, being dead, it didn't appear to have any especially vulnerable areas, so it just seemed to piss it off more.

" _K_ _nidos_!" Harry yelled again, and Murphy had a strangely disorienting sense that he was aiming at her. The fuzzy, crackly feeling came back and the morbans dropped her.

Murphy heard her wrist crack as she hit the ground. Her right wrist. She tried not to panic. Or was she already panicking? she wondered, as she felt the world wobble as if viewed from a ferris wheel. Fine. She tried not to panic _more_.

Harry, meanwhile, had been trying to think of a suitably damaging fire spell. Once he had been able to think again, that was. Most of the ones they'd been taught were specially designed to be _safe_. Safe was so clearly _not_ what they needed. When Murphy had been first attacked he had put down Bob's carefully _impervious_ ed skull and run through his list of dark creatures. He was pretty sure that he'd never heard of a _sluagh_ before, and didn't recognize it once he saw it. He might not have a chance to try everything he thought might work… so yeah, that still left fire. Most things didn't like fire.

The stinging spell worked surprisingly well, but he didn't think he could use it on himself, so he had to come up with a solution fast. Before one or both of them… well, better not to go there.

And then Murphy had screamed. Despair, cold and grey washed over him, almost making him lose his grip on the staff. He didn't even know her, but there was just something _wrong_ about her making that noise. Something utterly foreign, a warped, cruel kind of magic...

That's when it hit him. It didn't matter that the stinging spell shouldn't have worked on them… clearly, clearly, something in this completely _mad_ world was different. "I. Am. An. Idiot."

Murphy hoisted herself up, getting ready to try to shoot with her left hand. She heard the satisfying _thwack_ of the staff hitting one of the morbans and crushing a bone (or whatever they had left inside.) She jabbed the rightmost morban with her elbow and jerked her head forward to look at Harry.

He had his eyes closed, and he had both hands on the staff, arms stretched out. Several morbans had been able to get past the threshold in the time that she'd spent trying to get the gun back.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " He shouted. Who _cared_ if it was last year's spell?

A silvery white stag burst out of his wand, running towards the door, its horns catching the two closest morban and tossing them to the side. It skidded to a stop in front of Murphy, shoveling aside the morbans closest to her with an almost balletic grace. One tried to shoot past it, inside and a single sweep of its antlers took care of _that_.

For a moment the morban just stood there, somehow appearing to float on the ground. Then, suddenly, as if they'd all conferred, they shot back up towards the sky.

Murphy stood there, watching the deer made of light (or whatever it was) for a moment. She cradled her wrist, feeling the sweat drip off her nose, suddenly aware of the dog's snuffling. She forced the cold back and down.

She stared up at the sky, feeling completely blank. "Well. That almost seemed too easy."

Harry choked back a laugh, and slid down against the wall. He gave Bob a pat on the skull. "Yeah. If only I could do that for final exams instead."

Murphy frowned. She might as well ask now. She might get away with it if he was in shock. She pushed aside the thought that _she_ was probably in shock. "Not your first time?" she asked.

Harry seemed to know exactly what she meant. He shook his head. "No."

"You know, I hate to interrupt your little heart to heart, but she's just going to send something else." Bob said. "That's how Mab is. None of them are entirely sane."

"Says the talking skull." Murphy pointed out, without getting up.

Bob's tone was very prim: "I'm perfectly sane. I'm just amoral."

Murphy rubbed her forehead. "We shouldn't go to McAnally's, I don't think. We'll just endanger other people."

Of course that left them with _no_ options. She grimaced.

Harry just nodded.

"Can you float him out to my car?" Murphy asked. " _Without_ killing him?"

He thought about it for a moment. "What happens if I do? Just, you know, by _accident_?"

Murphy laughed. She shouldn't have, she knew, but she did anyway.


	5. Ch 5 - Give it to me straight (Dresden)

I shifted uncomfortably. I'd already done what I could for Ronald Bilius (which was not much) and we hadn't been stuck in the weird, dead Nevernever for very long, but the silence was really beginning to creep me out. Don't get me wrong, I was thrilled that nothing had come along to eat us. And the lack of unhinged fairy queens and megalomaniacal godmothers was really working for me.

But the silence _was_ pretty unnerving.

I stood up. I sat down again. I stood up.

There wasn't even _grass_ to rustle in the wind.

I looked down at Ron, who was still passed out. (At least I hoped he was only passed out, he had a pulse, but that didn't rule out his being in a coma.)

I sighed. I had no idea how long we'd been there, and who knew how much time had passed in the "real world." For the first time in a very long time I had no idea what to do. (Though very often my ideas are stupid and suicidal, I usually have _some_ sort of idea.) But nope. _Nuthin_ '. It was a pretty uncomfortable sensation. If you can have any sort of sensation when you're paralyzed.

Still. Since there was nothing I could do for Ron, some sleep might not go amiss. That kind of made sense, I thought, my head a little blurry. I felt about ready to pass out. If I got a little shut-eye at least then I could face the reverse-KKK feeling slightly more refreshed.

Right. Like that was going to happen.

I lay down anyway, hand (my other one was throbbing, though I was doing my best not to look at it) behind my head, very much missing my duster. The robe-things were awful. They caught around the shoulders and fluttered around so that you felt like you were wearing a night-gown. Perhaps they were more comfortable if they were actually made for you? I wondered. I was about the same height as Arthur Weasley, but just a bit broader in the shoulders…

No good. I sat up. There was no way I was getting to sleep. The shock had worn off a bit, and I was suddenly wired again. So. New working plan: test out the wand-thing, then drag Ronald Bilius a couple hundred yards, open a portal back to the real world and pop my head through without getting it blown off. Then get a cab to a hospital. That was sensible right?

So I squatted, tapping my wand against my knee. I couldn't set anything on fire, there really wasn't anything to burn. And that seemed like a bad idea anyway.

" _Glacio."_ I tried.

Nothing.

" _Ventas Servitas._ " I felt the change in air pressure as a wind whooshed out from where I was standing.

 _Alright. Okay._ So at least magic worked here. The unpleasant possibility that it might _not_ have worked only occurred to me afterward.

I gathered my will. "Forzare!"

A satisfyingly large divot appeared about six yards from where I was standing.

"Ah… _dispertius."_

Nothing. It should have created a similar hole in the ground. I frowned. There didn't seem to be any commonality between the ones that worked (or didn't work.)

I decided to try one of Their spells. Just on the off chance. " _Protego!"_

Nothing. Maybe something actually had to be headed towards you for it to work? Or I was pronouncing it wrong? (I wasn't. I have a great ear, whatever Bob says to the contrary.) Or... I thought back to the artificial, odd way that everyone seemed to hold their wands... perhaps the angle of the wand mattered? But I couldn't remember what the kids had done, so it didn't matter right then.

" _Fulmino_." I tried.

Nothi… a crackle of lightning shot out of the wand, expanding, like a bare white tree and dissipating just as suddenly. Maybe it was me, but casting with the wand just seemed _easier_. Like you could do some real artwork with that kind of focus, make something with real elegance. If you were capable of finesse that was. Helpful hint: I'm not. Fire. Lightning. Tracking spells. I'm more of a knock-the-walls-of-the-maze-down sort of wizard.

Still, maybe with the new wand...

" _Lumen, camerus, factum."_ I hadn't really been expecting it to work, so I didn't really visualize what the illusion was supposed to look like. A vaguely holographic (yes, I may live without a TV or a hot water heater, but I know what holographs are) image shot up from the ground, fluttering into solidity. A man in black and green, and a weird gold, horned helmet.

 _Damn_ my subconscious is weird sometimes. I heard a loud popping noise.

"Mr. Dresden!" Dumbledore thundered from behind me. A red bolt of light hit the image and I let it sputter out. "Step away from Mr. Weasley if you please."

I was already quite a few paces from Ronald Bilius, but I was between him and Dumbledore...

"Mr. Dresden, give me one reason I should not cut you down where you stand." Dumbledore _rumbled_.

What exactly are you supposed to say to that sort of thing? _I'd really rather you didn't?_ _Well, it'll be hard to get blood out of the carpet?_

"It was just an illusion!" I shouted.

Did he really expect me to not test the wand when I had a moment? I wondered.

"I am aware Mr. Dresden." Dumbledore replied. "What have you done with Miss Granger?"

" _Done?"_ I almost yelled, feeling a slight hysterical edge creep into my voice "I don't know, wherever her key/compass thing sent them. I told her to use it and get them out!"

"Them?" Dumbledore queried, looking pointedly at Ron.

"Kid, caught in the crossfire. I don't know anymore than that." I waved my hand. "Look, it got out of hand _really_ quickly, he…" I jerked my thumb towards Ron "...got knocked out, the girl couldn't wake him up, I didn't know what was going on, there was a _troll,_ two trolls, and a bunch of guys dressed in black sheets, Ollivander disappeared, the shop went up in flame." I took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

"It was a real party, you should have been there." I said sarcastically.

I took another breath, gathering steam. "So what have I _done_? I fought off a bunch of homicidal maniacs with a little stick that I have no idea to use and, despite the fact that no one has told me _anything_ , and I could very well have opened a portal into space, or the ocean, or the center of the sun instead of wherever _this_ is, I managed to get out and at least give you the chance to save this one's…" I jerked my thumb towards Ron again "...life."

Dumbledore lowered his gaze but not his wand. "Forgive me Mr. Dresden. I would like to trust you, very much. But I have been wrong before. And neither Mr. Weasley, nor his family, nor Miss Granger should suffer if I were to be so again."

I raised my eyebrows. Well. We probably weren't going to get any better than that.

Dumbledore strode over to Ronald Bilius and began checking him for injuries. (Presumably.)

I frowned suddenly. He'd just let me know that _he_ didn't know where Miz Granger was. So he'd followed _me_. Not the portkey thing. But he didn't have anything of mine to track me with, for the very simple reason that I'd brought nothing with me. As ego-puffing as that was, I really didn't like the implications there. "How..." I said slowly "...did you find me?"

Dumbledore raised his head, and peered over his glasses at me. "A tracking charm." _Of course_ , he left unspoken.

I glared at him. I hadn't forgotten the mind-reading thing either.

"I was able to find you here, was I not?" "Are you..." He paused, frowning "... _familiar_ with this place?"

I frowned right back, mostly because I didn't know exactly how to answer that question. I settled for: "That's… complicated."

Dumbledore didn't seem put off by my non-answer, but instead looked around, as if at the scenery, and hummed appreciatively. "Truly Mr. Dresden, I think I have learned more about magic today than I have in the last fifty years. I rather wish we had more time to talk."

Then he bowed his head formally. "I will take Mr. Weasley. I shall return for you, since you obviously possess the ability to apparate, but are unaware of the whereabouts of the Burrow."

Whatever that meant. He walked over to Ron and was gone with another soft _pop!_ sound.

Moments later he appeared, took my arm in a disconcertingly grandfatherly way, and then we were back on the front lawn of the Weasley house where we'd started… _good god_ … not an hour ago.

I landed face first in the grass, feeling about ready to do the technicolor yawn.

"Professor Dumbledore..." I heard Hermione panting. "Help me please, just get his head up…"

I looked around blearily. Mrs. Weasley was already running out into the yard, the twins were right after her.

I glanced beside me, towards Hermione's voice. Our little blonde tag-along was horrifically pale, and a small trickle of blood was indeed coming out of his mouth. So no time at all had passed really. I supposed that was good. For the boy's sake at least.

Dumbledore's wand emitted a strange humming noise and a flurry of different colored lights hovered over the boy. He grabbed his hand and disappeared.

"Wh…"

"He's taken him to St. Mungo's." Hermione said, flat-out sobbing by that point. I wasn't going to hold it against her. She'd just fought in a honest-to-goodness _battle_ and nearly had someone die in her arms. All the same, I'm not really great at providing comfort, and I wasn't sure what I, a complete stranger, could even reasonably say to her.

Mrs. Weasley was down on the ground in an instant, clasping the girl to her capacious bosom. "Shh…. it's alright. It's going to be alright."

Mrs Weasley glanced over towards where Ron had been set down, but the twins were already floating their brother inside. "Come, come, we should go inside."

She sat us down in the kitchen and went out for a few minutes. She returned without saying anything and waved her wand, apparently beginning the process of making tea.

"Is he going to be okay?" Hermione asked, clasping her hands in front of her. Over the last few minutes her concern had obviously shifted from the little boy to Ron.

Mrs. Weasley's tight face softened when she turned to her. "I don't know dear. But there's nothing we can do right now. You did well to not try to take him back with the portkey when he was unconscious."

"I tried to wake him up." Hermione mumbled.

"I'm sure you did." Mrs Weasley gave her a soft, sad smile "...it's very good you didn't succeed though. You tried _ennervate_ didn't you?" Hermione nodded "It's a very safe spell, and it won't wake someone up unless it's safe for them to do so."

"But it wasn't safe for him to _not_ wake up…" Hermione was tearing up again.

" _Shh_ , you did all you could Hermione, and he's safe, and that little boy too. It's not your fault you don't know everything. Yet." Mrs Weasley grinned and gave her a pat on the back. Hermione took a deep breath and a disconcerting resolve formed on her face. Like she was going to memorize every single revivification spell she could get her hands on as a kind of penance.

Mrs. Weasley floated the teapot over and poured us both enormous mugs full of dark brown tea.

"Or I could make you coffee?" I jumped and looked up to see Mrs Weasley peering at me with a questioning look.

I blinked. It took me a moment to get back to where I could speak. "No. No. Tea's fine."

I think I could've counted the number of times I'd had actual hot tea (tisanes don't count) in my life on my remaining good hand, but I was really beyond caring by that point.

Speaking of which. I glanced down at my hand again. It actually looked… well... better? less…. suppurating? Mrs. Weasley's gaze followed mine and I heard her small sharp intake of breath, as well as the squeaking noise that Hermione made when she saw it. I hadn't really _forgotten_ about it. It was hard to forget about something that was causing me that much pain, but I had forgotten that I should actually _do_ something about it.

"Oh sweet Merlin." Mrs Weasley breathed. "What hit you?" She shook her head, as if amazed at her own stupidity "Oh, you wouldn't know would you?"

She then thrust out her wand and called: " _Accio medicaments._ "

A host of bottles and jars and cloths and who knew what else flew into the room like a little flock escaped from the pharmacy. I blinked. The girl had used it before hadn't she? Really, why was I surprised that they had a specific object-summoning spell? Or wave-your-wand tracking spells? Or wands?

I was starting to feel very much like a peasant. Which was strange, because _they_ were the ones dressed like peasants...

"I don't know how much I can do..." Mrs. Weasley said, bending over my hand "...but I don't think it's safe for you to go to St. Mungo's…" Hermione nodded her agreement. "... and if it was a dark curse, especially since we don't know what it _was_ , the chances of it healing are…."

"It was an acuminate purple curse, the duration was maybe a second, maybe half a second, not very long at all." I looked up to see Hermione was speaking, eyes closed.

Mrs. Weasley looked quietly surprised, speaking only a moment later. "Thank you Hermione, that helps." She said softly.

She opened a frightening number of bottles and poured them over or wafted them under my hand. The first one was the best though, it was a thick, golden liquid, and she cast a spell that made it cover my entire hand and wrist like a glove, and the burning, throbbing pain simply melted away. I wanted to prostrate myself at the feet of whoever had invented it. You'd never know it if you haven't been injured that badly, and I certainly don't recommend trying it, but the absence of pain is an amazing high.

"That better?" She asked, not really concerned with my answer, as she could already see my face. I nodded. I may have groaned my appreciation as well. "Essence of murtlap." She offered with a smile, and Hermione nodded as if she understood what that was all about.

"I didn't know you had medical training." Hermione said quietly, when Mrs Weasley had finished chanting her spells and appeared to have found a kind of rhythm in her application of the various potions.

"I was an apprentice healer when I married Arthur. But I'm afraid most of my experience has come from tending to the boys." Mrs. Weasley chuckled.

Hermione nodded, but was obviously not quite buying that. I didn't really either. After all, how many serious duels could her children have been in?

"Did you know any of the healers during the first war with Voldemort then?" Hermione asked.

Mrs. Weasley shot her a Look. "Yes." She paused, wondering whether she should answer the question behind the question. "I helped. But I was pregnant with Ron towards the end, and had four little ones besides. But I have seen this one before I think…" her tone did not fill me with a lot of confidence.

"...and?" Hermione asked.

"I…" Mrs. Weasley looked at me instead, her lips set in a thin, grim line "...I'm quite certain I can save your hand, whether you'll regain full use of it…"

I nodded blearily. What was I going to say to that anyway?

"Oh" she slapped a hand to her forehead, waved her wand and my leg snapped back into place with an audible _crack._

"Hey mum!" One of the twins called from the living room. "I think he's waking up."

Then he was at the kitchen door. "You're going to wait 'til he's fully conscious to kill him, right mum?"

Mrs. Weasley hoisted herself up off the chair. "No one. Is killing anyone. Your brother is going to wake up and have a nice cup of tea, and someone will stay up with him this evening so that he doesn't sleep through the night, and then we will never talk about this again. Is that understood?"

The twin's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. She exited with him.

I glanced over at Hermione, who had her eyes closed and was taking deep, purposeful breaths.

"Hey kid, you alright?" I asked. Personally, I was fine, I was no longer horribly distracted by the pain, and was feeling surprisingly stoic about potentially losing the use of my non-dominant hand.

Her eyes jerked open. "Yes. Yes. I think I'm fine. I just…."

I swallowed. Because I'd seen that look in the mirror. I thought back to DuMorne. There was a dividing line, like a wall of fire, in my mind; my life was separated into two parts: before that day, and after, and nothing was ever the same again. I never really felt guilty about killing him. I know you're supposed to, but it was him or me, and he'd started it.

But he'd tried to enthrall me, to destroy my will, and make me a slave. And I suddenly realized the world wasn't safe. Sure, when you're a kid, you might think you understand that the world is dangerous, that there are monsters out there (human and inhuman,) but until something like that happens, until somebody really, genuinely tries to hurt you, until it's personal, you really don't get it. Most people never do.

I could see the wheels turning behind Hermione's eyes. Her parents were _dentists_ for goodness sake. It wasn't exactly like she was born to this. Here she was, obviously upper middle class, probably a beloved only child…

I tried to grin at her. "Hey, it's fine. Not many kids your age could handle themselves in the middle of a firefight as well as you did. ...and, like she said," I jerked my head Mrs. Weasley-ward "...everyone's fine, nobody died. So, it's a good day in my book."

Her lip trembled. _Crap_. I know. I _know_. There's a reason I was never invited back to teach Sunday School.

Hermione took a deep breath and seemed to get ahold of herself. "No, you don't understand Mr. Dresden. We fought dementors last year, and Ron and Harry killed a _basilisk_ … and I thought… I thought this would be the same, but they're people, real people, and... but it's not… and Harry's not here, and I don't even know if he's okay, and now Ron…" her voice died, turning into a wounded whimper.

She started sobbing in earnest then. And that was how the whole story came out.

First year, her little friends take on a magical obstacle course. Like Merlin does American Ninja. All for the purpose of confronting an undead evil wizard. Next year she's actually _petrified_. One of her friends is possessed by a book. Her boyfriends then defeat a giant magical snake which can literally _kill you by looking at you_. Also, they got an incompetent teacher fired, which is almost as impressive a feat. Then, next year, they had a little sabbatical in which all they had to do was rescue my counterpart's wrongly-accused godfather from creatures which apparently have the ability to _suck out your soul_.

And here I thought my adolescence was tough. At least I didn't have any dark lords. Had everything but that, pretty much… but that's hardly the point.

Hermione finished giving me the rundown, then took a long, hard sniff. "Thank you Mr. Dresden."

For what? I wanted to ask. Sure, I'd made appropriately sympathetic noises through her whole story, but I'd honestly been too stunned to do much else.

She must have seen the look on my face. She smiled weakly. "I'm sure Harry's alright. I mean, you're here, and you're…" she winced at my hand "...well sort of alright."

And then Dumbledore _poofed_ back into the front yard.

Hermione shot up and darted towards the window by the sink.

"Well that was quick." I said.

Hermione shot me a strange look. Oh. Instantaneous travel. _Duh_. I probably should have been wondering why it had taken him so long to get back.

Dumbledore came in, and I heard everyone talking in the living room. I made no move to get up though. I was feeling strangely unmotivated, what with the having my hand nearly burned off and being attacked by maniacs in black sheets. I actually had no idea how long Hermione's story had taken. It could have taken five minutes or five hours.

Dumbledore, Ron, Mrs. Weasley and then the twins appeared at the doorway, like wizards popping out of a clown car.

"Mr. Dresden." Dumbledore let out a long breath. "...regarding our discussion earlier, I do not believe it is safe for you to stay here. I am unwilling to risk both your safety, or that of the Weasleys'." He peered over his spectacles at me, as if reminding me of our previous conversation, death threats included.

I raised my eyebrows. I was beginning to wonder what it was that I'd done that was so questionable. Perhaps he just blamed me for Ronald Bilius getting knocked out. If he really thought I was that dangerous he was doing a pretty poor job of protecting everybody from me. Which begged the question...

Dumbledore steepled his hands in front of his stomach. "Your… notable display did not escape anyone's notice Mr. Dresden. You are now almost certainly a target for the Death Eaters."

Ah. Of course. Their civil war thing. Dumbledore seemed to be very much a political animal. He'd decided he had another piece on the 'chess board.' All that I had to do was figure out what ranking he'd given me and whether it was worth playing along until they got _their_ Harry back.

"I'm guessing you have a suggestion?" I said wearily. I still hadn't forgotten the fact that he'd gone all Merlin on my ass for no reason.

Dumbledore smiled. "In the interest of honesty Mr Dresden: I'd like you to know that I would feel obligated to offer you aid regardless. You are in an unenviable situation and your fate is likely intertwined with our Harry's. However, I believe this will be an interesting year. I would prefer to have you near Hogwarts, primarily for your safety. We cannot _afford_ to endanger you."

I raised my eyebrows. From the way they talked I could never tell whether Hogwarts was a school or a fortress.

Fred suddenly grinned. "He could help Filch."

George held up a finger "No, he'll be the new apprentice groundskeeper! He'll love Hagrid, they'll get along great."

"Love me, love my rock-cakes." Fred grinned, then yelled, in a sudden fit of inspiration: "No, _no_! He'll come in as a transfer student from, um…uh… Canada!"

"Or he could come teach." George offered in what was probably supposed to be a reasonable tone of voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the two resident tricksters. "He's not even qualified. He said he uses a _staff_. How is he supposed to teach wand-magic?"

"He could read ahead in the textbook?" Fred said hopefully, and Hermione glared at him "...He could teach astronomy?" Fred looked at me, the question in his eyes. I shook my head. Actual _lives_ would have to be at stake for me to risk confusing children with my pathetic knowledge of the heavens.

"No, _divination_!" George corrected, grinning. "Anybody can teach divination."

Dumbledore looked over at them and their mouths snapped shut.

"You'll have to show me how to do that sometime Albus." Mrs. Weasley said, with a wry smile.

Dumbledore simply twinkled at her.

"What's special about this year?" Hermione asked abruptly. "I mean, besides the fact that Harry's missing. And that Ron's managed to get concussed. And that we've already fought a _troll_."

"I'd be loathe to ruin the surprise." Dumbledore said.

I frowned. "In my experience it's surprises that tend to ruin things and not the other way around."

He looked at me implacably. "It is intended to be _pleasant_ surprise. A school event. However, I would be more than happy to tell you. In fact, I believe there are many things we need to discuss Mr. Dresden. ...but perhaps it is preferable to get you settled first?"

"You can't just pack him off." Ron objected, a stubborn look coming across his face.

"Ron's right." Hermione said. "He's the only one that can help us get Harry back."

I raised my eyebrows. What exactly they were going to do? As far as I knew, this was horrifically advanced magic. At the very least it called for hauling out some very old, very mildewy tomes to find a solution. If there was even a solution.

They both crossed their arms, as if their point of view could be made reasonable by sheer dint of will.

I suddenly understood. The kids talking about whether they should include this Dumbledore had seemed strange at first, and a little YA fiction to be honest. Because, honestly, most kids are idiots. At their age I shouldn't have been allowed to feed myself, let alone carry a little weapon that routinely violated _all_ the conservation laws. But looking back, they held themselves like fighters. Like people who could run and scrap and stay awake sleepless nights looking for solutions. It was something in the fierce, determined set of their jaws, the way they always knew where their wands were. The way they ignored instructions. It was like looking at a mirror. Two much younger and more attractive mirrors.

Dumbledore looked at both teens for a long moment. "I understand that you are anxious for Harry. ...and I did say that I would prefer to keep Mr. Dresden close to Hogwarts. That has not changed."

Hermione frowned. "I thought you needed special permission for non-employees to lodge on the grounds?"

Dumbledore tilted his head, apparently unsurprised that the girl had (seemingly) read the school's by-laws.

"So where exactly are you going to keep him?" Hermione asked, pursing her lips.

"If he is amenable…" Dumbledore flicked a questioning glance my way "...with my brother." he said this with a kind of suspicious serenity.

"You have a brother?" Ron said, mouth gaping.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes Ronald, he has a brother. Honestly, does anyone _read_?"

* * *

And that's how Dumbledore ended up dropping me off at the Hog's Head Inn like so much baggage. I've done it plenty of times to people myself, so I'd like to say that I handled that maturely, like a reasonable adult. The truth is I got very sulky, very quickly. (Read: as soon as I stepped through the door. See, I'm used to being able to use transportation time as a way to chat, give people some info about the latest catastrophe in the making, but despite Dumbledore's many, ominous 'we need to talk's, there was none of that.) I don't think it was Dumbledore himself, for the most part. I could handle him, I knew his type. He was someone used to being in control. And maybe his intentions weren't bad. But I don't like being kept in the dark, and I don't like being someone's attack dog, which he seemed to be hinting at. And I certainly don't like having my mind read. I shivered. Jeez, that was still giving me the proverbial heebie-jeebies.

It was just that everything was so _huge_. They had a _dark lord_ who'd kind of come back from the dead for god's sake. And if he'd done it once (more than _once_? I wondered) he'd probably be able to do it again. Or maybe he already had.

But I was too exhausted to deal with anything that wasn't an emergency.

I plopped down onto a dubiously-clean bar stool and sighed.

Dumbledore's clone poured me a tumbler of whiskey, perhaps he was smiling somewhere behind the beard... "Yes. He tends to do that, doesn't he?"

I looked up at him blearily. "Sorry, what did you say your name was?" It had been a _long_ day.

He raised his glass. "I didn't. Albus did. Don't worry. It's perfectly natural to stop listening to him after a few hours. Aberforth." He smiled an odd little smile. "Aberforth Dumbledore. He's _the_ Dumbledore. I'm just Aberforth."

O _kay..._ I wasn't touching _that_ with a ten-foot pole.

"Did he say where he was going or when he'd be back?" I asked. The weird thing was that I'd thought I'd been paying attention. Maybe I _was_ still in shock.

Aberforth Dumbledore made a little humming noise. "Mhmm. No. But I can tell you. He went to confer with his Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. He'll be back as soon as he's figured out what to do with you."

"I see." I didn't.

"...and he trusts me to catch you up on whatever you need to know in the meantime." He shrugged, as if his brother's confidence was somewhat misplaced, and it was really up to me if I wanted to get the rundown or stay and get 'sodding drunk', as he put it sometime later in the evening.

"Sounds great." I tossed back a hefty fraction of my tumbler and only just stopped myself from spraying the liquid across half the bar. It was like drinking sulphuric acid. My mouth felt like it was on fire, my throat scorched and dry like I'd been breathing in smoke. "Hit me."

I wasn't honestly sure whether I was talking about information or more to drink, but it didn't matter, because he supplied me with both.

"So we grew up in the Welsh countryside..." he began. And it went on until we reached WWII, then he opened a new bottle of whatever that horrible stuff was. It made moonshine's kick seem like a gentle, warm white glow.

"So basically you guys just have dark lords popping up like weeds all the time?" I asked.

Aberforth gave me an odd look. "You don't?"

Hell, I hadn't even decided whether I was keeping my... er... _odd_ background a secret or not. Probably not. I'd had enough firewhiskey stuff that there probably wasn't even any point in trying. I tossed another shot back. "Uh, _no_. Vampires? Spirit zombies? Megalomaniac fairies? Yes. Magical nootropics? Unfortunately, yes. Dark lords? Not really."

I frowned. Wait. Did unhinged fairy princesses count as dark lords? I wasn't sure.

"Interesting." and for a very brief moment I could actually believe they were brothers. "So..." he seemed to be taking a moment to gather together his thoughts "... by '45 my brother was unable to avoid confronting Grindelwald any longer."

I must have looked confused because Aberforth paused, then said "He and my brother were... _close_ at one time."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh. You mean _close_ 'close' or..."

Aberforth blinked, then cleared his throat. Probably abashed at my brash American-ness. And, I had to remind myself, they were from a completely different era. "I was... never very interested in determining exactly how far their acquaintance extended." was what he settled on saying.

 _Right_.

I noted the strange shift in how he spoke (it was hard not to.) Perhaps I'd been wrong, maybe that was actually how they'd been raised to speak, and Aberforth was somehow the affected one, with his short, gruff clauses and clipped sentences. Though how else you'd speak if you didn't want to get laughed out of your own bar I didn't know.

Another thought struck me. "Is he okay with you telling me all this?" I asked.

Aberforth grinned, showing a disconcertingly large number of teeth. "Probably not."

I raised my eyebrows. "O _kay..._ "

Again. Not touching that with an any-foot long pole.

Aberforth waved a hand in my direction, heading of any further questions with: "We quarreled. I was right. It doesn't matter now." "So, anyhow. Around the time the Squib Riots were going along there were a lot of liberalizing laws that got pushed through. It was good stuff some of it, and besides the Wizengamot had to do it or they'd have had a full-scale rebellion on their hands. But because of that was a lot of agitation in pureblood society -wizards who think they're better than everyone else-" I nodded, I knew a few of those. They hadn't banded together into a band of wand-wielding neo-nazis, but I had the feeling that somehow my world was just a little behind on those sort of things somehow. "...they felt they were losing their grip. Because they were. There was somebody who took advantage of their disillusionment, who had the words to sway them and the wand-hand to back it up. Tom Riddle."

"Voldemort." I'd finally gotten the name down.

He went into a very detailed explanation of the structure of wizarding society before the Ministry of Magic, and then went on to explain precisely how Voldemort had used all of that to disassemble it all into a steaming pile of rubble.

"Until he lost." Aberforth said, something heavy and satisfying in his voice like a gavel coming down.

I yawned. "That's where your Harry comes in right?" I asked.

Aberforth's eyes twinkled. " _My_ Harry?"

I leaned back in my chair, stretching. It made me feel a little light-headed, even sitting. "Well y'all seem to feel pretty proprietary towards him. Miss Granger said that he'd done something to defeat the Sociopath in Black." I actually had no idea whether he wore black, or purple velvet, or camel hair. But I had a hard time imagining him standing in the middle of his goth band of followers in something like bright green. It just didn't work. Dark wizards have a kind of image to project after all.

Aberforth tilted his head. "My brother believes that Harry Potter's mother managed to protect him with an act of sacrificial magic. Voldemort was unable to touch the boy. He _burned_." Aberforth grinned.

"Huh." Even half (alright, three quarters) drunk that sounded a lot like the White Court's allergy to love to me. What kind of sacrifice would cover an entire _race_ of beings though? Clearly, your own magic (if you have any) isn't enough, it requires someone else's love, or maybe... I shook my head. Ignoring the occasional panic attack, it was _fascinating_ to be in the middle of all this. I could easily spend the rest of my life here quizzing people and reading books. But that was just it. I didn't _want_ to spend the rest of my life here.

Aberforth cocked his head. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if your mother had done something too."

"What?" I said stupidly.

"You're an orphan no?" Aberforth asked.

I stared at him. I was, of course, technically. It's just that's not a word you hear often as an adult. You kind of forget that it applies. Even though the fact itself is unforgettable.

His head went back and forth. "I haven't heard your story, but I'm sure there are a number of parallels, you couldn't have switched places with him otherwise."

"That's sounds very fuzzy and metaphysical and not my kind of thing at all." I said, as soon as I processed what he was saying.

Aberforth shrugged. "I don't think Magic really cares."

I stared at him for a minute. Maybe longer. "You guys, you people talk about magic like it can think. Like it can _feel_." _You're all crazy_ , was what I wanted to say. Of course, I walked fairly close to that particular line myself. Magic is so complex, so emotional, so... _real_ , that you're tempted to think of it as a person. Or maybe more like a very big, very bipolar animal. It's not like a program, where you do one thing and the same answer always spits out. It has certain rules of course, or maybe it's better to say _patterns_ , but you sometimes feel like it thinks for itself.

Aberforth took a swig out of the bottle. "You sound like a Muggle. Maybe it thinks, or more likely, _feels_. Maybe it doesn't. Who can know? Just so long as you don't wind up thinking that you understand it."

Now _that_ I could relate to. Thinking that you understand what's going on is a sure-fire way to get killed. As witness: my situation. So I sat there thinking for a bit about all that. I may have nodded off.

I shook myself awake. "So what's happening with this Dark Lord, is he dead, half-dead, _mostly_ dead, what?"

Aberforth was wearing the Dumbledore-vacillating look. "We aren't sure. My brother thinks that he's likely to attempt an incarnation ritual of some sort this year."

Yes, tactically that was the only thing that really made sense, he couldn't exactly do much as an incorporeal blob of evil. Except order death eaters around. Though that _had_ seemed to do plenty of damage...

I ran through what I knew. Fortunately or unfortunately, my knowledge of necromantic rituals was limited. Usually making a body required some sort of blood sacrifice, and some serious reality-bending magic. (Given that you were essentially creating a body to be possessed, which usually meant that at least one of the sacrifices had to be involuntary.)

I let out a long whistle. "That's some _serious_ dark magic there."

Aberforth nodded. "Voldemort is a talented wizard, but he prefers to 'make a scene,' I think is the phrase. Since Potter has the blood protection, Voldemort would likely have gone for him to counter his advantage. Otherwise, perhaps my brother will be his target. While I doubt that there is anyone currently living who could take him on in a fair duel, besides perhaps Voldemort, that doesn't rule out more underhanded methods." He frowned. "The school is being opened for the Triwizard Tournament later this year. If Voldemort hasn't completely lost his reason, or his lieutenants are successfully managing him, he'll try to get at him then. No matter how much security they have in place, it'll be easier when the castle is overfull and people are moving back and forth."

I nodded slowly. The sensible thing, then, was to have an offensive plan, if Voldemort expected everyone to be sitting at the school waiting to be attacked, the best option was to meet him out in the open. I shook my head. Why was _I_ formulating a plan to combat some dark lord? Clearly other people knew more of what was going on. I just needed to get back home, where _I_ knew what was going on. It was a safe bet that I usually "knew better" than anyone else at home in Chicago, but it clearly wasn't a rule of the universe that I always be right.

Home. Chicago. Where, I reminded myself, Murphy was probably busy being ambushed by fairies. Because realistically, Murphy was just _not_ the sort of person who wouldn't follow up on a mysterious phone call. And it had been mysterious. I'd been vague because I didn't want to talk about it over the phone. Well, and because I had no idea of what was going on.

Aberforth suddenly cleared his throat and leaned back against the bar. (He'd come around to sit with me at some point, I didn't recall when.) "So. I know that my brother must have plans for you, but what are _your_ plans?"

I blinked. "I... don't know. I guess it depends partly on what his plans are. I'd like to get home, it's not exactly like I left things in a stable state..."

"Really." He said. It wasn't a question.

Aberforth fiddled with his beard. "You know, you may look like you live in a gutter," I frowned, _that_ coming from the man with the hobo-beard "...but somehow I don't think you're the kind of wizard that likes to watch from the sidelines. When spells start flying you're not going to just turn away. Are you?"

I grit my teeth. "Probably not."

"In fact..." he continued "...you've already gotten yourself involved. Haven't you?"

" _Yes_." I bit out. "Though how would you know?"

Aberforth raised an eyebrow. "A patronus. You can use them to send messages. I keep forgetting you're not from around here." He gave me a knowing look that made me wonder if he knew just how _weird_ the situation was "You know..." he paused "...I'm sure you worried my brother by using _fiendfyre_ , but I think the reason _why_ you used it is more important."

I sighed, and finally asked the question I'd been wanting to ask, but had forgotten about in the middle of everything.

"Why is everyone so worried about me using fire? It's just fire." Though I already knew that wasn't really true. Nothing is ever "just" anything with magic. The wand had refined something in it, encouraged me in a way, almost, though I had no idea what it had encouraged. It was like a feedback loop of some sort, one that I didn't fully understand. It's not exactly the sort of thing you think of when you're attempting to avoid getting your ass shot/spelled off, and by then I'd had to much to drink to figure it out.

"Well, now that you've told me everything there is to know, I guess I can crash?" I really didn't want to, there seemed to be something _wrong_ about sleeping when I was in an alien world with no idea of what to do or how to get back. But needs must, right?

Aberforth twinkled then. Intentionally misinterpreting what I'd said: "I've told you everything _I_ know." "If I know one thing about my brother it is that he has a good deal more that he knows, that he hasn't shared with _anyone_."

But then he led me upstairs to a tiny, musty little wood-walled room that had about as much interior design sense as my living room. Which is to say: none at all.

So that was fine.

I almost collapsed into the bed, but I caught sight of a mirror over the lone set of drawers, just out of the corner of my eye. I hesitated. Sure, this world was different in a lot of ways, and if mirrors were all that dangerous as potential doorways they probably wouldn't be putting them in hotel rooms. But that didn't mean I felt comfortable with it there. Old habits die hard. I went over and half-heartedly tried to pull it off the wall, thinking that I might be able to put it outside the door, and explain my insanity in the morning if Aberforth said anything. I shook my head and went over to the bed to pull off a blanket.

I was just about to throw the blanket over the top of the mirror when it said: "Goodnight dearie."

I yelped and dropped the blanket.

 _Talking mirrors._ Why not? Why the hell not?

I tossed the blanket over it, some strange compulsion making me mutter: "Goodnight."

Whatever it said in reply was muffled by the blanket.

* * *

 **Author's note** : ...yes, I am aware of the fact that "Two Harries" is completely incorrect. It's only because the "Two Ronnies" is spelled that way (and yes, I'm also aware that the singular form 'Harrie" probably doesn't exist. Or at least it didn't before hipsters started naming their children.) However, if it bothers people that much, I suppose I can change it.


	6. Ch 6 - Dol Guldur (Potter)

_**Author's note:**_ I just remembered to change the rating to 'T' because of some... 'choice words' that Tam lets slip out in this chapter. _Sigh._ Can't take him anywhere.

* * *

They floated "Tam" out towards the car, skull in the gym bag, cat trailing behind them (which she had forgotten about in her rush, but which had just decided to follow them, because, why not? It wasn't like the day could get any more insane.)

Murphy shot a look over at the grinning Brit. Potter - Harry she reminded herself, other people were _allowed_ to be called Harry - looked a lot more relaxed than he had. He seemed really relieved actually. She thought back to the near-panic in his eyes when he'd asked if he was a what was it? "Squid," "squiv"... "squib?" And then the sudden looseness in his stance after he'd been able to shrink the duster.

He'd looked -she realized, startled- like a cop who had just gotten his gun back. Someone who really knows the value of the weapon in his hands. But he was so _young_. She shivered at the thought.

"Er," about halfway to the car Harry stopped "...I don't know how to obliviate anyone who sees us."

Murphy frowned. "Obliviate?"

"Ah, it's a spell to make people forget." He explained.

Murphy felt her eyes grow wide. "Those exist?"

They both _heard_ Bob roll his lights from inside the gym bag. "Not _here_. What sort of dystopia do you live in Potter?"

Harry shook his head "Nevermind, even if I knew how to do it, with this staff I'd probably be more likely to blast someone's head off." He glanced around the parking lot "There doesn't seem to be anyone anyway… I've, er, never been in America before, but… aren't cities usually more… well, crowded?"

"It's the _sluagh_." Bob said. "People instinctively avoid them."

Harry frowned, and stood there, thinking.

"What?" Murphy asked, putting a light hand on his shoulder to get him moving again. So maybe it wasn't entirely rational to feel safer in a car, but a car _could_ move a lot faster than she could.

Harry glanced up at her, then looked back at his trainers as he plodded along. "Well, it's just those marban things… they remind me a lot of dementors, and the Patronus charm worked..."

"That white-light deer thing?" Murphy asked. He hadn't used much else, except that rather odd stinging charm that still had her feeling like she'd been run through a car wash.

Harry nodded. "So it's almost like they're related…" but he didn't remember ever hearing about that sort of thing in Care of Magical Creatures. When he'd been in primary they'd talked about Darwin, but he had no way of knowing whether things worked that way in the magical world… Unfortunately, Murphy couldn't read minds, had never bothered to get anything beyond passing grades in science class, and had no familiarity with either universe's magical creatures anyway. Bob decided to be useless and offered no commentary.

Then, about halfway out to the car there came a loud thunking sound on the asphalt behind them.

They both wheeled around to see a tall, winged woman. Being muggle-raised, the brief notion of an angel flashed through Harry's mind, but, on second thought, he decided, most angels probably didn't tend to wear that much leather. Murphy's eyes, of course, flicked immediately to the gun holstered at the woman's hip.

Microseconds later there was another _thunk_ behind Harry and he felt the staff whip out of his hands. Tam dropped to the ground, sprawling out bonelessly.

The dog growled, but, surprisingly, didn't attack. Murphy had been beginning to wonder whether it would actually do what she told it to do, but perhaps that didn't matter, as it seemed to be able to read her mind anyway.

"You did better with the _sluagh_ than I expected." The woman in front of them said. Her voice was both soft and surprisingly deep.

There were several other loud thunks behind them and Murphy turned to see three more winged women standing there, guns aimed.

 _Great._ Murphy grimaced. Defeat the life-eating zombies and then get held up by goth angel chicks. _Brilliant._

The blonde woman in front of them inclined her head. "It would be unwise to resist."

"Somehow I'd gotten that." Murphy said dryly. They weren't being shot on sight. That at least seemed a good sign.

" _Who..._ " The blonde's cool gaze flickered briefly down to Tam. "...did _that_?"

One of the goth angels, a curly redhead who seemed like she was going for the Black Widow look, pointed to Harry.

The blonde inclined her head towards him. "I'm impressed." there was no change of expression on her face. "Not many people can take on a Sidhe lord and live to tell of it."

 _Well_. The bloke was unconscious, so 'living to tell of it' might still be a shaky proposition, Harry thought, but decided not to mention that.

"Rota." There woman's eyes went back to Tam, and the redhead jumped to attention. She bent down smoothly, as gracefully as a dancer, and clapped a pair of handcuffs on him, removing knives and various other pointy, dangerous-looking things as she went. She took out a syringe.

"What is that?" Murphy asked. She suddenly realized that she was missing Bob's blow-by-blow narration of the unfolding train wreck that seemed to have become her life. Of course, it made sense for him to keep quiet, but they'd certainly go through the stuff in the gym bag...

No one made any response. The redhead finished injecting whatever it was, tore out a tuft of Tam's hair and stuffed it into a small locket.

Harry however, was watching the woman. She moved her hands and a hole appeared in the air, and, instead of a rather dilapidated parking lot, they were suddenly looking at deep-black, white-capped waves and an overcast sky.

 _Interesting skill that._ Harry made a note to ask Bob about it. If Bob hadn't already been smashed into a dozen different pieces that was. The redhead had tossed Bob's gym bag to one of her compatriots.

The first woman turned cold grey eyes on him, as if knowing what he was thinking. "Come."

Murphy's eyes widened as the tallest woman bent down and hoisted Tam over her shoulder.

The cat, Harry noticed, was long gone. He frowned. When had _he_ disappeared?

The blonde didn't even pause. "Leave him."

Murphy and Harry found themselves being walked through the portal onto a narrow slate-grey beach. The hole closed behind them like water disappearing down a drain.

The blonde woman took a small cloth out of her pocket. Honestly, those leather pants were so tight that Murphy was surprised that she could fit _anything_ in her pockets.

Murphy tried to get a closer look, but the woman tossed it out into the water before she could see anything.

It hit the waves. Murphy blinked, and then there was a longboat unfolded there, bobbing on the tide. Dark, slatted wood, a ferocious dragon-like creature carved on the prow and covered in gold.

She blinked again. "Wh…"

Harry, however, seemed to take it all in stride. Murphy made a mental note to ask whether things like this happened regularly in his world.

"Her name is Skíðblaðnir." The blonde's mouth actually twitched then. "I stole her from Wotan."

It took longer than Murphy would have thought to get everyone settled on the boat, and by the time they were done they were all sweaty and they stank of seawater. It seemed funny somehow that they had an amazing collapsible boat and it was likely still as messy as getting into any other viking longboat ever had been. Murphy wasn't laughing.

As soon as everyone was on board though, the ship shot off, the water not so much blurring past them as blurring _around them._ As if it were making use of the fact that all water everywhere was the same.

The view seemed a little like those strange psychedelic backgrounds to music videos when she'd been growing up, except with all the grey it was more _film noir_ than "now in Technicolor."

"Ah…" she heard the redhead say, Rota…? and felt somebody (someone smaller than the _very_ tall blonde) catch her as her head seemed to expand and float away.

* * *

When she opened her eyes the redhead - she was just going to call her Rota and have done with it - was standing over her, she was lying on some sort of moth-eaten couch instead of the rough wooden slats of the boat.

The blonde woman was just at the door, and was scowling at Rota, who shrugged. "The boy insisted we wake her." she jerked her head at Harry, who looked strangely sheepish about the whole thing.

"I _might_ _have_ made a little bit of a scene." Harry admitted in response to Murphy's questioning look.

Rota quirked an eyebrow; 'little bit of a scene' was apparently an understatement. "I knew we should have broken out the ketamine for you."

Murphy took that to mean he'd woken up too soon. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was a wizard? She honestly found Rota's 'smile and smile' friendliness to be creepier than the blonde's silence.

She glanced down at the floor where Tam was had been dumped, sprawled out like a ragdoll. It was a darkish room, fairly large -Murphy measured the space by using the conveniently placed Tam as a mental measuring stick- about four Tams long and five Tams wide. The walls were covered in slowly-unravelling tapestries of various people and animals tangling up with no regard for perspective (Murphy had never really taken an interest in art history, so she couldn't say any more.)

"I've had classes in worse." Harry said dryly, watching her eyes travel. "At least it's not a dungeon."

Murphy glanced over at their captors. The blonde stopped arguing with Rota, and something in her face closed off, making her even more ludicrously expressionless than she already had been. "This was lady Frigga's hall." she replied "Had there been dungeons she would not have used them."

Tam evidently heard them talking. He suddenly shot up into a sitting position, blinked once - taking in them, the blonde and Rota Redhead - and then let his head fall into his hands. "Oh fuck _._ " He rubbed his eyes. " _Fuck!_ " He spit out. "Fuck me sideways."

Murphy glared at him despite everything else that was going on. "Hey. Youngster here, Mr. Emerald City."

He glared right back. First at her, then at Harry. He shook his head and looked down at his knees, apparently back in his own little world "Oh, I'm never going to hear the end of this…" he went to stand up. He lurched, grabbing for the armrest of the closest couch, glaring at the blonde. "Good _god_ , Gunnr what did you give me?"

The blonde, who was presumably Gunnr, shrugged. "Digitalis."

Tam bit out something that was neither English and nor worth translating.

Murphy raised her eyebrows. "Does everybody know _everybody_ around here?" she asked.

Tam shrugged. "More or less. Yeah. When you get to be my age there's not a lot that you haven't seen. Or done." he flashed a rather dirty-looking smile at Gunnr, who, unsurprisingly, did not return it.

"I bet she took some of my hair too, didn't she?" Tam asked, suddenly facing Murphy and Harry again.

Murphy nodded. Harry just sat there looking confused. This elicited _more_ gaelic.

Tam glanced over at the blonde and shook his head. "Gunnr, Gunnr darling, you're colder than the Ice Bitch herself."

Gunnr gazed at him, unblinking. "I have a job to do Tam. No hard feelings."

Tam scowled. "Of course not. Just leave me to my death," he shrugged "it's nothing personal."

Gunnr rolled her eyes. "Please. You're a lord of the Sidhe. There's no way he'd kill you. Torture you? Yes. Hold you for ransom? Yes. Kill you? No."

Tam perked up at that. " _He_? Who are you working for this time? Someone I know?" he asked.

Gunnr looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Why would I tell you?"

"For old times sake?" Tam gave a hopeful grin and let it drop just as suddenly as it'd appeared. "Yeah. Thought not."

"Would someone like to explain what's going on?" Murphy asked. "Who _are they?_ What's happening?"

"Well," Tam made a little wobbling motion with his hand. "...what kind of definition did you want? On the one hand, they're heartless, soulless bitches who will stick a knife in just about anything as long as there's enough gold in it for them. If you want a name: they're valkyries. As for what's going on, I imagine that we have a third party interested in the disappearance of your pet wizard."

Murphy looked up to see that his face had gone hard. Determined. It was, actually, the only time he'd seemed halfway sane. Which, oddly, was more worrying than anything that she'd seen in the last hour or so.

Gunnr simply raised her eyebrows. "I see she never managed to curb your tongue."

Tam glanced up and a half-smile flickered across his face. "Jealous?"

Gunnr snorted. Her ' _as if'_ was clearly written on her face.

"Who is he?" Tam pressed. "Who are you working for Gunnr?"

Gunnr rolled her eyes. "Again, why would I tell you?"

"To prove you're not enthralled?" Tam said.

Gunnr's nostrils flared. Tam clearly knew which buttons to push. "I am not enthralled. I have sworn no oath." she said.

"But you still won't tell me?" Tam asked.

"I will not." Were it not for the bored look on her face, Murphy could have sworn that Gunnr was smirking.

"Well, if you don't, I can guarantee I'll never hire you again. Because I _will_ get out of this." Tam said flatly.

Gunnr cocked her head, as if waiting for him to finish.

"We in Fensalir?" Tam asked, apparently deciding to switch tactics. " 'Cause that's doable. I can escape from Fensalir."

Gunnr looked dubious. "He's made some improvements recently. It is no longer the ruin that Frigga left it."

Tam's smile flickered again. "Has _he_?"

Gunnr sighed, absently stroking her chin. "Let your wife ransom you and be done with it Tam. I think he is sane enough to realize the wisdom in letting you go."

"You _think?_ That's comforting." "And them?" Tam jerked his thumb towards Harry and Murphy.

Gunnr inclined her head wordlessly. _What do you think_?

Tam's mouth quirked, looking almost bitter. "Well. Thanks for the heads up."

Gunnr had already moved on, she turned and walked over to the door. Her valkyries had all filed out of the room by then, and Gunnr turned as she reached the threshold, as if actually waiting for his parting shot.

"Gunnr." Tam called. "Those things I said about you…" he grinned, walking up to her, somehow managing to _stalk_ towards her even while he was handcuffed "...they weren't true." His grin widened. "Except of course for the part about you being smokin' hot in bed."

For about half a second the valkyrie looked like she couldn't decide whether to laugh at him like an amusingly precocious child, or slap him, and then Tam kissed her, using his hands, which were suddenly _-magically_ , Murphy frowned- free, to pull her towards him. The kiss lasted rather a long time. Murphy began to fidget, feeling vaguely responsible - _why?-_ that she had an impressionable young man in the room and things could very well get into the R-rating zone. She glanced over. Harry was staring bemusedly at them.

Gunnr finally shoved him off. "Good luck with the necromancer, Tam." She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't actively not-smiling anymore either.

Tam kissed her hand. "Thanks milady."

Gunnr shook her head and shut the door on them.

Murphy raised her eyebrows at him. "Healthy relationships. That's how it's done kids." she said, and Harry made an odd sort of choking noise.

Tam flopped onto one of the rather dusty looking chintz lounges, ignoring her "Could be worse."

" _Worse_?" Murpy deadpanned.

Tam rubbed his hands. "She didn't have to tell me what he is. Read: she hates him. She could have kept us knocked out; she didn't... and she _knows_ she's always been shite with bonding spells." he indicated with 'jazz hands.'

Then he grinned. "And now to business."

Murphy raised her eyebrows again. " _Business_?"

"Well I don't plan to moulder here in Dol Guldur forever do I?" Tam said.

Harry frowned at that. Hadn't somebody called it something with an 'F'?

Tam sighed. "Dol Guldur? Fortress of the Necromancer? a.k.a the dark lord Sauron? No?" Tam shook his head. "Good god, does anyone _read_ anymore?"

"Cut it out." Murphy snapped. "Besides, you've had what, a couple of centuries available for reading, and he's what? Fourteen? Fifteen? Stop being a dick."

Tam shrugged. "A millennium and some change actually."

Murphy rubbed her eyes. "I don't care. Words cannot describe _how_ _much_ I don't care right now."

Tam nodded cheerfully. " _Right_ , because you're trapped in an inescapable prison with a sociopath that was alive before your seventeenth great grandfather and an underage wizard who is somehow capable of knocking out a lord of the Sidhe - which Lord is, ironically, about the only person who could have stopped this entire thing from happening, _had he been conscious -_ but who appears to be absolutely _useless_ without some sort of focus. Your go-to wizard for magical booty calls is mysteriously unavailable, and you are informed enough about The Art to be terrified, but uninformed enough that you don't really know anything useful. Also, if, by some strange chance, you _should_ escape (in which case you'll probably end up owing _me_ a life-debt) Mab is still interested in having you for dinner. Either/or. Tell me if I've missed anything."

Murphy stared blankly ahead. She was _really_ missing her gun. "No, I think that just about covers it."

Tam had already moved on. He'd cocked his head and was looking at Harry curiously. Probably because Harry had closed his eyes and had his face screwed up in a look of painful concentration.

"What are you doing _bairnie_?" Tam asked, eyebrow cocked, looking genuinely curious for a moment.

"I'm trying to do accidental magic." Harry grunted.

Tam merely raised an eyebrow and didn't pick apart that particular sentence. "Well. Have at it then." He propped his feet up on the armrest of his lounge.

Murphy raised _her_ eyebrows. "Aren't you going to try to escape? Or something? I heard that it was a sure thing. Or is 'business' some sort of code that translates to 'mocking helpless mortals?'" if she had been a more sensible person she might have acknowledged that antagonizing the only person available who could get them out was probably a poor choice... but she wasn't feeling very sensible.

Tam nodded equably, humming. "I probably could. I try to avoid doing the heavy lifting when there's someone else to do it for me though. Meanwhile you can try and ingratiate yourselves to me so I'm inclined to take you with me when I _do_ escape." "No?" he said with exaggerated disappointment at Murphy's silent refusal.

"Well," he started twiddling his thumbs "...know anything about this Necromancer fellow?"

"No." Murphy said flatly. Perhaps that was what had happened to the valkyrie. How many centuries of him had she endured before _she'd_ moved to those terse, robotic replies? Murphy wondered.

Tam didn't appear to be surprised "Alright. I propose we pool our information. It'll probably be a better deal for you, since you seem to know next to nothing, but I'm bored."

Murphy's lips buckled in an wry smile. "How generous."

Tam shrugged. "I may be mad, but I'm not _heartless_."

Murphy sighed "So what should we know?"

Tam's grin _sparkled_ "I thought you'd never ask. It sounds like your Necromancer here is after your kept wizard. It doesn't make sense for him to be after either of you, news doesn't travel that fast, even in the Nevernever." he said.

"So how did _Mab_ know?" Murphy asked.

Tam grinned. "Ah, well, that's different, Mab has eyes on your Houdini's house. She's trying to find a Winter Knight who's more incompetent than old Slate apparently. When _will_ she learn that I can't be replaced?" he shook his head in mock sorrow.

"...and _you_ _knew_ because she knew, didn't you?" Murphy paused, then asked: "How?"

Tam's smile widened. "Mortals are smarter than I remember. Maybe it has something to do with not constantly combating starvation and plague and influenza and all that." he said.

Murphy's lips tightened. "You know, you could just say that you're not going to give me an answer."

Tam sighed, as if she were a child both equally amusing and fatiguing." _Acushla_ , you think I don't keep track of what's going on in Mab's court? ...and your wizard was involved in a major battle between the Summer and Winter Fae not so long ago. He's not exactly what you'd call low-profile anyway."

She took a deep breath, then resolved to try again: "So why does he, or she I guess, want Harry, Dresden?" _Was_ _there_ a feminine form for 'necromancer? she frowned… _necromanseuse_ maybe?

Tam let out a long breath, and Murphy found herself almost alarmed when he didn't immediately fire off a flippant response.

"You know what's interesting?" Tam tugged at his bottom lip. "The switch, one wizard for another… perhaps at first this Necromancer was trying to get ahold of him in his own way - wizards hate to get their hands dirty, even the ones that routinely desecrate corpses and the like - and something went wrong? So he sent Gunnr and her team…" "They're mortal," he explained, seeing her lost look "...different limitations ...and they have no formal allegiance anymore. Perhaps he expected the _sluagh_ to fail, he just sent them to soften you up... but then why..."

"It still doesn't explain what he wants with Harry." Murphy pointed out.

"That'll doubtless reveal itself in time." Tam said and glanced over at a still constipated-looking Harry. "Any luck _alanna_?"

" _No_." Harry said, glaring. He flopped down on the chair closest to the bare fireplace. They all sat in silence for a long moment.

"I wonder if I'm gay." Harry said this in a rather odd (to Murphy) tone of voice, as if he wasn't really interested in the answer either way.

She was momentarily speechless at the abrupt change of subject. No whining. No dramatics. No Rube Goldbergian plans for escape. Just...

"Do you like boobs?" Tam asked.

Harry nodded slowly.

"You're not a uranian then. Problem solved." Tam said.

Murphy finally remembered how to speak and glared at Tam. "You can't just _say_ things like that. _Kermit_."

"Why not?" Tam asked, his sunny smile making Murphy wonder whether her insults were truly going over his head. He _did_ seem to be more up to date than -god help her, now he had _her_ using the name- the Ice Bitch.

Murphy ignore him and turned to Harry. "Why do you ask Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I don't respond to veela or fairies." Murphy was still looking at him quizzically...

It was a testament to how much time Murphy had spent with Harry Dresden that she could _almost_ see how this kind of _non sequitur_ could be valuable.

Harry shrugged again. "It's not like there's anything else going on right?"

Tam threw back his head and laughed. And laughed. And laughed. "Ah yes, Muirgen will _love_ you."

Harry frowned, not really understanding how that followed.

Tam explained. "You don't respond to fairies because you block them wizardling. I assume you do actually feel _something_ in the presence of one of the Fae?"

Harry nodded. Murphy made a note that perhaps the best way of getting information out of Tam was to merely look confused. He _liked_ to explain things, he loved to ramble, he just didn't like to answer questions _per se_.

"But you resist the feeling, no?" Tam said, he tilted his head "You don't _like_ it. I'm assuming your response to the other things is the same, since you associate them for some reason. I imagine it'd be pretty hard to trap you into a soulgaze too…" Tam mused, as if contemplating all the useful possibilities _there_.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Murphy analyzing the geometry of the room. Harry screwing up his face again. Tam doing god-knew-what.

"Your magic is strange." Tam directed at Harry, completely out the blue, then frowned "Probably why you were able to surprise me… You're like…" he frowned " _haute_ French cuisine vs. oat porridge."

Harry blinked, obviously not knowing what to say to that. " _Er_. Thank you?"

Tam raised an eyebrow. "Don't thank me yet boy, not many people eat croissants during a famine."

Harry shifted in his seat. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was supposed to understand more of that than he did.

Tam gave him an almost avuncular smile, and if he'd been less comfortable lying where he was he probably would have leaned over to ruffle Harry's hair. "Never fear, Muirgen will tell you all you need to know. You'll be quite a mage one day, whoever you train with."

"You seem very sure we'll get to meet her." Murphy noted.

Tam bared his teeth."Of course you will. How long do you think I can be missing before my lady-love comes to look for me?"

"Ah." Then everything clicked. Murphy sucked in a breath.

Tam frowned. "Yes. Though she's taking a bit longer than I expected."

It couldn't be _worry_ she saw on his face, could it?

"That's your plan?" Murphy asked, disbelieving "To sit around and wait for your…"

"Wife." Tam supplied helpfully.

"...wife to rescue you?" Murphy finished.

"Ah." Tam looked to the side, seeming almost confused. "Yes? Is there a problem with that?"

Murphy sighed. She wasn't exactly sure how things worked, but she felt that you probably didn't get to be some sort of fairy duke _merely_ by being ornery.

"Really, _why_ do you want to help us?" Murphy asked. Assuming it wasn't, exactly as he said, just because he did anything that Mab didn't want him to.

Tam smiled, and, for a moment, the expression seemed entirely warm and human. Only for a moment. "Well I rather have to _now_. Blood debt." he explained.

Murphy and Harry looked equally nonplussed, for once. Murphy did, however, notice that he hadn't actually answered the question.

"His status…" he jerked his head towards Harry "...is a little less certain, seeing as how he's the one that _knocked me out._ But anybody unconscious is prey to the _sluagh_ , so technically _-only_ technically, mind you- you both saved my life." he stood up and bowed deeply, lips twitching "Milady."

Murphy nodded, though she noted he hadn't exactly answered the question. She wondered (not for the first time) whether something she'd said before counted as agreeing to his deal somehow?

"So are you going to actually help, or just stick around until you can "save" our lives?" Harry asked. Tam didn't look at all surprised by the fact that the boy had been listening.

Tam flashed Harry a very… carnivorous sort of grin. "With the way things are going I don't imagine I'll have to stick around very long to do _that_ wizardling."

Harry went completely white.

Tam frowned. "Sorry." He peered at Harry more closely. "I don't normally have _that_ effect on people. It's more her Royal Frostiness' thing."

Harry closed his eyes and steadied himself against the armchair, despite the fact that he was still sitting. Tam put a hand on Harry's forehead as if checking for fever. It was probably a sign of how close Harry was to passing out that he only made a vague grunting sound of protest and wriggled back slightly.

"No." he grit his teeth "...dementor… things…" he took a gulp of air "...and I don't have my wand."

Tam cocked his head. " _Well._ That's bad."

"No shit Sherlock." Murphy snapped.

Tam gave her a tolerant look. " _No_ , I meant that it probably means that our Necromancer is headed back here." And the _sluagh_ were probably coming in greater numbers as well if the boy was having that severe a reaction, but he saw no reason to mention that.

Murphy blinked. "Oh. Wow. That is bad." Really bad.

"Where is that bloody spirit anyway?" Tam snarled.

Murphy raised her eyebrows. " _Bob_?"

Tam sniggered at the name again. And then promptly began tearing through the room like a madman, looking for… something? He broke open the leg of one of the chairs, peered at it, and then tossed it towards the empty fireplace.

"What are you…? What does _Bob_ have to do with anything?" Murphy asked.

Tam rolled his eyes. "I imagine that he possessed the cat and went to inform my wife. She is probably scrying for us as we speak."

 _...and he couldn't have mentioned that before_? Tam tore down the curtains, and ripped off a long length. He sniffed it and then dropped it on the floor.

"He can do that?" Murphy paused " _Why_ would he do that?"

Tam had cocked his head, as if he found her extremely funny. "He is a… lesser spirit, without a wizard on his side currently, it is wise to cultivate friendly relationships with more powerful beings." He cast a particularly irritating look her way. "That would be me." He stalked over to the fireplace and squatted, peering into the ashes. "It costs him nothing and affords him a possible ally. Of course he would do it. Well." he frowned then "Unless he hates me more than I thought..." he mused.

"Wonderful." Murphy said sourly.

Harry's eyes rolled back and he hit the back of the couch with an oddly quiet _thud_.

Tam grimaced. " _Bollocks_. I really didn't want to carry him. Boys his age are always heavier than they look."

"Wha…?" Murphy began.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come on in." Tam called over his shoulder.

Murphy only had time to register the clicking sound of the lock unlatching. The door swung open to reveal a black-haired woman only a little taller than she was, in a camel-colored skirt suit and heels.

"Hardly dressed for saving the world are you, darling?" Tam asked, the relief on his face disappearing behind another flashy grin.

" _You_." The woman trotted forward, grabbing Tam by his shirt and forcing him upright. Tam responded to this manhandling by lowering his forehead to touch hers.

It was… oddly sweet, Murphy thought. Like the cover of a paperback, except oddly real. Her: little, pretty, dark and utterly relieved and relaxed. Him: tall, blond, interesting, with that little spark of insanity that some women seemed to find so appealing.

Then she hauled back and slapped him. Murphy liked her already.

" _Oww."_ Tam rubbed his cheek "Was that really necessary?"

The woman whom Murphy could only assume was Muirgen propped her hands on her hips. "I don't know. Was your little burlesque show with Horseface really necessary?"

"I had to get your attention somehow dearest." Tam said, with a winning smile.

What he meant by that was something Murphy wasn't really sure of. Did they have some mutual spying arrangement or... what?

" _Arse_." Muirgen rubbed her arms. "You knew very well that" and here Muirgen said something unpronounceable, which Murphy could only assume stood for 'Bob' in Akkadian or ancient Japanese "...would come get me."

She took a deep breath. "We should hurry though. I brought Nicnevin's company and Miach, but there is a host approaching the likes of which I have not seen since…"

Tam put a finger on her lips. "I know beloved. You should not have come yourself."

"But I _did_." she gave him a stern look "We should not tarry here."

Muirgen swiveled towards Murphy and the still passed out Harry. "Are we bringing them?" she asked Tam, simultaneously opening her purse (which Murphy could have sworn had not existed a few minutes ago) and tossing what was apparently a full set of armor in his direction.

He caught it all of course. Murphy had briefly attempted juggling when she was a middle-schooler. She was _much_ better at aikido.

Tam grinned apologetically, snapping on silver arm braces. "I'm afraid we rather have to, my love."

Muirgen shook her head. "You and your pets." "Alright."

"Shall we have Nicnevin carry him?" Tam asked cheerily, halfway through pulling on his chainmail shirt as if it were a jersey.

Muirgen raised her eyebrows and bent over Harry. Murphy stifled the urge to get between them.

She stayed there a moment, and Murphy stared as the color returned to his face for no apparent reason (besides the presence of a vaguely witchy person.) At least that's what it looked like. _Hmm._ Maybe she was becoming jaded.

Muirgen kissed Harry's forehead. "Awake little one."

" _Mum?"_ Harry's eyes fluttered open as if responding to a command.

About half a second later Harry turned bright red, visibly biting down an apology.

Muirgen straightened, and strode towards the door where Tam was already waiting. In full battle regalia. Over a Green Lantern t-shirt. Murphy resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Hurry." Tam directed towards Murphy and a still rather disoriented Harry. "The Necromancer comes and the _sluagh_ are already upon us."

Watching both of them at the door Murphy considered then the very real possibility that fairies simply didn't _understand_ how to hurry. It would explain the lack of reaction when discussing potential catastrophes, Mab's "you have three days and three days only thing" when her favorite wizard fell of the face of the earth, and their apparent _complete_ and _utter_ inability to hustle.

As soon as they started towards the door though, Muirgen set off clattering down the steps. Tam brought up the rear. Once outside - the long wooden hall looked even more dilapidated than the inside would have suggested and... _god it was grey out_ \- they met up with a couple dozen... humanoids? Most of them had the right number of limbs. Not all of them were in the right place, granted, but…

Murphy blinked. The great hall was _right_ _on_ the water. They had come out of the hill and onto a narrow stone walkway hugging the edge of the island. Well. She assumed it was an island anyway. She supposed it could be a peninsula.

"Hail, my favorite knaves, how fare you?" Tam said with a grin, getting several smirks back, grasping the arm of tall, dark-haired elf-warrior type who had fallen in on his left. The only negative response came from a seven foot tall woman with scars covering half her face. The other half was no improvement. She set off at a jog as soon as everyone had gathered, leading them along the long curve of the hill.

Everyone else followed. They rounded the curve and Tam grinned widely when he saw Skithblathnir still in the dock. "Good fight?" he asked no one in particular.

Brunette Legolas smothered a smile. "Very."

Muirgen shot a dirty look at Elf-man " _Miach_. Save your battle-stories for the fireside."

"Speaking of battles... we may have to make our stand here." Tam pointed towards the sky, where a dark figure glided, wheeling down like a vulture "There's our necromancer…" he sniffed the air "... _et infernus sequebatur eum."*_ he murmured to himself, watching the black, roiling, cloudy mess of corpses following after him.

"Swot." Muirgen grinned. Murphy grit her teeth, wondering whether they ought to have a discussion about what constituted an appropriate time for kibbitzing and what did not, and also whether it was worth asking for a weapon.

"Halt! They're within range. Fall back to the boat in order." the ogre-woman called, and everyone who hadn't had a weapon in their hand whipped out longbows.

Instantly they heard the hiss of a dozen arrows being let loose. The _sluagh_ were still too far away for them to hear the corpses hit the ground, but Harry was willing to bet that they'd all found their mark. Of course, that was probably because there were so many of them that they were impossible to miss... Tam unhooked the bow strapped to the ogre-woman's back and started firing.

"Meet rede that was, Nicnevin. _Ciringite frontem!_ " Tam yelled and all of the fairies (or _whatever_ they actually were) froze. All of the archers still had arrows ready. Tam raised an eyebrow at the archers. "Please. Do feel free to fire any time you like."

Muirgen cocked an eyebrow. "That sword burning a hole in your scabbard dear?"

Tam actually flushed. "Well, now that you mention it…"

The ogre-woman growled in annoyance and tossed something towards Harry. He only recognized it as Dresden's staff after he caught it.

"Yours ain't it?" she grinned, showing mossy-colored teeth.

"Uh." Harry froze. "Kind of."

She raised her eyebrows, one of them was furrier than the other. "I'd use it then."

A corpse-thing promptly shot out of the sky, barreling down on towards Muirgen and the huge, angry ogre-woman whipped out a huge staff and split its head open. Instantly.

Harry swallowed.

"Well that was rude." The ogre-woman grinned to herself again, hefting what looked like Murphy's gun, as if debating throwing it. She walked over and handed it to Murphy, whipping her staff back out in front of her, holding it ready.

There was an ominous and entirely unnecessary crack of thunder and a score of corpses appeared in the middle of their company.

Harry didn't even stop to think. " _Expecto patronum!"_ and the stag burst out, running up towards the closest _marbans_ , tossing them screaming and hissing into the water. Tam had out a small sword and was merrily hacking away.

Muirgen blinked prettily. "Oh. I like _that_." She frowned in concentration and a small, fluttery white light appeared between her cupped hands, then winked out. She frowned.

"Is he _flying_?" Harry asked eyeing the approaching cloaked figure as his patronus rammed its way through a clump of half a dozen _marbans_. He shook his head in frustration. _Not_ important. He turned back to track the white gleam, flashing through the tangle of falling limbs. The stag was holding together, but it was slowing, and it was being gradually pushed back. "There are too many of them."

The other fairies spread out and moved forward, each about a spear or two's length from each other. "Forget it!" Tam yelled "It works for as long as it works."

"Back!" Nicnevin barked. Muirgen grabbed Harry as half the fairies retreated and the other half let loose another volley of arrows. They switched off and repeated the maneuver, the group getting a good thirty meters closer to the boat. It was still at least a quarter of a kilometer away. And there were _marbans_ dropping behind them now. Harry frowned.

They weren't _quite_ surrounded, but it was shaping up that way.

"Keep _moving_." Nicnevin growled.

Murphy had her gun out as soon as there were a handful of corpses close enough to shoot. Muirgen appeared by Harry's side. "The host is too great for your stag, protect yourself _bairnie._ "

"I can't…" Harry couldn't think of a fast way to explain. "I can call it back I guess, but..."

...and he stopped because he saw understanding dawn in her eyes.

" _Ah_. I see." Muirgen kissed his forehead again and he felt as if he'd been dunked in a pool of sunshine. He let the patronus lapse for an experimental moment. He didn't exactly feel _good_ , but he didn't think he'd pass out. Muirgen didn't wait, drawing a long, thin sword out of nowhere and then running back towards the thick of the fight.

" _Knidos_!" he shouted, directing the spell towards a small, bright-blue man who had been grabbed by one of the corpses. He looked down at the scaly woman who was currently flashing between leaf-green and magenta, writing off any possibility there instantly. He didn't really know any healing spells.

" _Plosio_ _!_ " he shouted, directing the staff at one of the marbans that Murphy had shot, following the pattern that had seemed to work for them before. He froze when the sky _rumbled._ Not like the normal, crack of thunder, but growling as if it had indigestion...

"Be still!" A voice filled the sky, deep and echoing as if it had issued from a large cavern. The marbans collapsed like marionettes. "Fairy, give me the boy and your little band of misfits can be on your way."

As far as Murphy could tell the chief benefit of this was that the _sluagh_ had stopped attacking. She reloaded.

"Bull _shit_!" Tam yelled back. "Fight me yourself, you bloody piece of wank-spawn! Or are you afraid to face a lord of the sidhe? You vile, dismal-anused, black-kneed beggar, what right has a bile-blooded creature such as you to demand a child in my keeping!"

"Tam." Muirgen put her hand on his shoulder.

"My point stands!" Tam shouted.

This elicited a very unpleasant, rasping laugh from the Necromancer, who landed soundlessly a few dozen meters away. It was impossible to see his face under the hood of his cloak. "I'm not interested in your flyting, fairy." "In fact, I have no interest in any of the rest of you. I'm looking for Harry Dresden."

Tam rolled his eyes. "We know. But as my darling wife can tell you, I'm hardly the most accommodating of creatures. I see no reason to aid you, you straw-thewed, maggot-ridden stream of typhic diarrhea."

The Necromancer sighed. "I suppose I will have to risk a conflict with the Fae then. I'm sure your many, many friends among them will be happy to avenge your memory, fairy." there was somehow a nasty smile hidden there.

The corpses ran towards them, a wall of flailing limbs. A real, honest-to-goodness horde.

Murphy checked her gun again and wondered whether she'd be able to pull off using a sword. She didn't typically go around equipped for actual _battles_. "An ideas Harry?" she shot a tight grin toward the young man, who was busy shooting a stinging spell over his shoulder. The corpses had formed a solid wall _behind_ them now.

Any movement toward the ship had stopped.

"It will be done Lady." Nicnevin called, though in answer to what command Murphy hadn't heard.

" _Harry_." Harry heard a voice over his ear and jerked his head back, seeing no one. " _It is Muirgen, Harry. Will you do something for me?_ "

Harry shrugged, then looked over at Muirgen _slamming_ her sword across the neck of a marban. Its head rolled off. "Sure?"

" _I need a wall of fire."_ Muirgen thrust her hand out in a warding gesture and another marban's head exploded.

 _Oh, is that all_? Harry kept himself from saying.

" _You have all the time you need. Lady Murphy stands by you and I have sent Nicnevin to guard your rear. Do not consider the battle."_

Right, he was just going to ignore the whirling swords and flying arrows and the fairies being choked into unconsciousness and/or death, and just somehow magically _figure out_ how to make a wall of fire. Perfectly reasonable.

As if in response to his objection the noise dimmed, masked by Muirgen's unnaturally calm voice. " _Harry, I know you_ must _be able to cast fire. All that remains is to extend it and keep it burning_."

She flicked her fingers and a long, thin staff of white wood appeared in her left hand. She hit the closest marban with it and it stuttered, dropping to the ground as if shocked.

"How?" Harry wasn't even sure how, or if, she heard him.

"You _fuel it Harry_."

Right-o. He'd just get on that then.

" _Incendio._ " The fire shot out of the staff, the force blasting the _marban_ in front of him as Murphy's bullet took it down. It was still burning, but Harry hardly thought that was what Muirgen had meant.

Well. He obviously didn't know how to use the staff properly. He didn't even know if he could have done something like this with his own wand. Fire needed some sort of fuel didn't it…? _So w_ _hat did it feel like to be on fire_?

" _Incendio."_ and a stream of fire raced from the staff, leaping up under a fresh gust of wind. Not _exactly_ a wall, but...

" _Don't let go Harry."_ he heard in his ear.

 _Right._ He didn't know how he'd done it in the first place, so he'd just keep doing it. Easy enough.

Muirgen jogged over, sword out, face covered in blood and... pus? She grabbed the end of Harry's staff. "No! Don't drop it, idiot child." she shook out her arm, indicating how he ought to hold it.

She began to hum. " _Don't_ let go" she said through her teeth, pointing her own staff at the fire.

Nicnevin grabbed the corpse coming at Harry and flung it out towards the water. He grit his teeth. The warm, golden feeling of Muirgen's kiss was trickling into the fire, and he had no idea what it was doing, or if it would run out. He shook his head -suddenly conscious of the sweat trickling into his eyes- that didn't even make _sense_.

Murphy grabbed Muirgen's sword when it became apparent that she wasn't using it and she'd realized she was on her last round. (She hadn't figured on a full-out battle when she woke up that morning. Silly her.) The nice thing about the corpses was they were technically already falling apart, so they were much easier to... ah... disassemble. She beheaded three or four _marbans_ before she realized that Muirgen was chanting.

Actually _chanting_.

Harry was closer, but he couldn't make out any words obviously. Though they sounded vaguely Gaelic. Or something like that. She stuck the sword into the neck of the closest corpse. Hopefully it would work.

Murphy blinked. The fire had flashed _green_. Like the creepy green from Maleficent's spells in Sleeping Beauty.

"Tam!" Muirgen yelled. "Let's get out of here."

"Excellent idea!" Tam yelled back, and Harry felt Muirgen grab him by the scruff of the neck and _shove._

Straight through the flames.

Instead of being impaled on the sword of the closest fallen fairy though... he found himself in a cool, bland, white-cream-and-glass sitting room. There was a tiny rock fountain bubbling in one corner. A rather squat, rusty-looking Buddha statue in the other. The coffee table was made entirely of glass, _spotless_ glass, and there were three obviously unread magazines on top. Petunia would have loved it. He passed out.

* * *

 **Addendum:**

*I forgot to say before: "... _nomen illi Mors, et infernus sequebatur eum_ ," basically translates to '... _his name was death, and hell followed with him._ '

(It's from the Vulgate, because Tam's schooling was basically the Dark Ages' version of being educated by Jesuits. Beneath all the crazy he's a total nerd.)

(It has nothing to do with the fact that it's a central theme from Tombstone. No really. I mean it.)


	7. Ch 7 - Wiggle Room (Dresden)

I woke up to a magical hangover. Now I know that generations of college students and other man-sized children have called upon the muses, explained and declaimed, in grand old bardic style, the inordinate torture that we call a hangover. Gallons of ink have been spilled. Numerous ears have been talked (whined) off. But this was no mere 'muggle' hangover. I mean that it was so bad that it must have had supernatural assistance. I didn't feel like my brain had been bashed in by twist of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick. I felt as if my brain had been melted down, mixed with henbane and then been poured back into my skull through my left nostril.

"Good morning Mr. Dresden!" Miz Granger chirped, _throwing_ open the curtains. Ron waved from behind a pile of books held in place with his chin. I was in too much pain to wonder how they'd gotten in, and too fuzzy to feel that my privacy had been violated. (Because, honestly, if something doesn't have claws, fangs, freaky psy-abilities or some sort of bladed weapon I don't even worry about it anymore.)

"Ow. Ow. _Ow_." There were some other words that were going through my head, but they _were_ kids, and I try not to be a jerk. (I usually fail, but I try.) I shut my eyes tightly, making the drumbeat in my head suddenly that much louder. I tried to gradually relax every muscle in my body, wishing that I could melt into a puddle. While for some reason it had seemed Very Important to keep Aberforth talking the night before... I was beginning to understand that our fraternization and the concomitant overindulgence had been... grievously irresponsible.

"Mr. Dresden." Miz Granger's voice pierced my right eardrum, ricocheted across my temple and split my head open. "Mr. Dresden."

I winced and almost, _almost_ yelled at her. I was really cutting a figure in this brave new world.

"Yes?" I tried to open my eyes more slowly this time. She held out a small volumetric flask filled with deeply purple liquid. I'm honestly not sure whether she was entirely oblivious to my state or cheerfully ignoring it. Though I guess it doesn't really matter either way.

"It's a hangover potion." she said brightly.

Well. If the kid said they had hangover potions, who was I to say they didn't?

Still, I eyed the flask suspiciously for a moment, not terribly thrilled that a girl the size of a munchkin had decided to mother me. But Mephistopheles himself could have popped up and I'd probably have taken it from him.

I gulped it down. The time for suspicion had been _last_ _night_ when Merlin's brother tried to poison me with alcoholic lava after all.

"Why are you guys _here_?" I asked as soon as my head cleared. It was pretty amazing actually. Why hadn't I ever worked out a hangover potion? It's just dehydration after all, a lot simpler to deal with than bending space, or manipulating minds... I then noticed that Miz Granger had two large satchels _also_ stuffed to the seams with books.

Hermione hefted one of the satchels "We thought…" I glanced over at Ronald Bilius and immediately translated that to ' _I thought_ ' after seeing the look on his face "...well, I mean obviously the Hogwarts library would be _loads_ better for research, but seeing as how you've never used a wand..."

I eyed one of the titles (just visible over the mouth of the overflowing bag): _Standard Book of Spells Grade 6._

 _Thrilling._

On the other hand, she did have a point. Even if learning to use the wand put getting back to my-Chicago on the back-burner it was worth it. Maybe that was illogical, but I am _not okay_ with being passed around like a useless football. I can't _stand it._ It probably wouldn't take that long, given that I'd been able to survive with the wand.

"Well. Thanks for the hangover potion." I raised the empty flask in salute.

"Oh." she squeaked. "It was Ronald's suggestion actually."

I raised an eyebrow at the boy.

Ronald Bilius shrugged. "Abe's idea. You weren't real thrilled the first time we knocked."

 _Abe?_

I squinted "Oh, that was _you_?" Now that I thought about it, I did vaguely remember squeaky voices and a scratching sound at my door from some time before. Very vaguely. Good thing it hadn't been the Gestapo coming to take me away.

Hermione nodded.

I groaned. It's not like I ever expected to be a _good_ role-model, but I'm pretty set on not being a bad one. Kind of like a karmic poverty line that I'm not quite yet willing to cross, so to speak.

I then heard the elephantine _thud-thud_ of a seven-foot tall wizard bounding up the steps.

Aberforth poked his head through the doorway. "Come with me." he said shortly.

The man _grabbed my arm_ and hustled me down the steps. "Ministry." he said shortly, in response to my many and none-too-quiet questions about what was going on.

"Uh, that's a bad thing?" I asked, as he pushed me through another door and trundled me down a long, steep set of musty, creaky stairs.

He gave me a look of the kind that you usually reserve for unusually stupid people or government employees. "Not as bad as Death Eaters, but I don't think you want whatever you cast yesterday to show up on Ministry records."

 _Really_? These people had more taboos going than a university campus. I badly needed a cheat sheet. What, I wanted to know, were the _appropriate_ spells for use on a troll?

He stood for a moment in front of a portrait of a young girl. Full-on Edwardian schoolgirl. She looked kind of creepy actually, but I try to avoid commenting on other people's decorating choices.

If he'd taken any longer I'm pretty sure I'd have started to fidget. It was a little uncomfortable to realize that I had no idea what to expect. For all I knew I was going burst into flame. Oh. No wait, I'd already done that.

The portrait swung open to reveal a small, forbiddingly cobweb-ridden corridor. I was shoved inside with little to no ceremony.

"Stay here." The doorway snapped shut.

I was really beginning to dislike all of this. I gathered that I'd done something that the proverbial, amorphous "They" didn't like - the fire perhaps? Though why there was an issue with fire I didn't know - but being packed away like Anne Frank really wasn't doing anything for me. I mean, I know why _I_ don't feel great about the whole casting fire thing, but they could hardly know anything about my memories…

Or, actually, they could know. Who knew what Dumbledore had seen in my head? Because I had the sense - those sort of senses are rarely wrong - that what he was capable of a lot more than what I was used to with a "simple" soulgaze.

I'm not sure how long I was there, a few minutes - long enough that I'd taken out my new wand and contemplated practicing some of the quieter spells I knew, or possibly heading down the tunnel in a fit of middle-aged rebellion - and then a red-faced, sputtering Hermione opened the door and ducked inside, followed by a rather pink-eared Ron.

"What…?" I began to ask.

Hermione's face turned even redder.

Ron seemed to have recovered and said "We'll have to stay here for a bit. They're searching the rest of the Hog's Head."

"Is she alright?" I asked, nodding toward a still- apoplectic Hermione.

Ron glanced over at her, as if suddenly remembering that she was there. "Oh. Yeah. She'll be fine."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Abe told the aurors that we'd been staying in your room when they asked." he explained. "It's why he sent us out the 'back way.'"

Hermione clenched her fists, and I was suddenly not so sure whether she was embarrassed or furious, or both. "Yes, very discreet." she snarled. "How could he… he…"

Ron grinned then. "Relax 'mione, it was logical."

" _Logical?_ " she whisper-shrieked "... _logical_? I'll give you _logical_ Ronald Bilius Weasley." she sniffed then, saying: "As if I'd stay in the Hog's Head anyway."

"Oh yeah?" Ron's grin twitched "...and just where would you have picked?"

Hermione turned still redder. I cleared my throat, not really sure what I would do if the two of them came to blows.

"Where are your books?" I asked. That seemed safe.

"Under the bar of course." Hermione replied, relatively evenly. She turned to Ronald Bilius, nose turning up, her face quickly returning to it's normal color. "This passageway is blocked off. But maybe we could get in through the Honeydukes passage?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Right, let's break into a sweets shop early in the morning when the town is _crawling_ with Aurors. Honestly 'Mione."

She shot him a glare. "Will he even _fit_ through the Whomping Willow? And then I'd like to know how we're supposed to get him into the castle?"

"Snape fit." Ron said defensively.

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes.

"Right." I said, having watched the entire exchange with some bemusement. "How do you know that the passage is blocked off?" I asked, peering down the corridor. I genuinely wanted to know, stopping their bickering was just a bonus. What sort of trouble did these children get into that they knew about secret passageways in the basements of a _bar_?

Ron groaned.

" _Hogwarts: A History_." she chirped, seemingly back to whatever was normal for her. "It caved in, in 1603."

Who was King of England then, I wondered. Or was there still a queen?

I looked between the two of them. Obviously, there was some in-joke there that I didn't really want to be "in on."

Hermione nodded decisively "I think one of us should go back to the Burrow and get the invisibility cloak, then we can get him out of Hogsmeade."

Ron simply nodded.

 _Invisibility cloak._ Okay. It was fine with me. I'm crap with veils anyway.

* * *

"One of us," I was beginning to learn, meant Hermione. She flooed away and returned less than half an hour later - during which Ron said less than six words ('sorry 'bout all that mate') - holding a large piece of silvery material. I was never very talkative as a boy, but his capacity for silence amazed even me. I will admit that I didn't make much of an effort to engage him in conversation. I had a lot to think about.

Like the fact that I was maybe, possibly never going home, and that I personally felt a little bit responsible for whatever disaster was about to befall my city in my absence, and feeling a little megalomaniacal for thinking that. Or not. I'm pretty good about _not_ thinking about some things.

"Here." she shoved it into my hands and I put it on. (Side note: it's actually rather creepy not to be able to see your own legs.)

"That was quick." Ron said, after a long moment.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry's trunk isn't _exactly_ the Tower of London, Ronald." but she looked pleased with herself. "...he doesn't even close it half the time."

"You broke into your friend's luggage?" I asked. Why was I not surprised?

Hermione looked sheepish at that "Ah… needs must?" she almost cringed as she said it. "It's not like he wouldn't want us to use it, anyway."

 _Uhuh_. I nodded, not listening to her as she chattered on about all the times they'd used it before. Magic invisibility cloak. In the possession of three teenagers of dubious responsibility. What could _possibly_ go wrong?

"Try not to bump into anything." Hermione whispered as we headed out into the Hog's Head. "I think it muffles the sound you make _inside_ of the cloak but if you knock something over…"

I nodded before I remembered she couldn't see or, apparently, _hear_ me.

We were out in the middle of the street when Hermione leaned over towards Ron and said in a stage-whisper: "Hmm. Since we're close enough to be getting a room together, don't you think we ought to be holding hands?"

She threw her head back and laughed as Ronald Bilius turned bright red.

They continued teasing each other along those lines - apparently having gotten over the traumatic experience - until we hit a large, ramshackle barn-thing on the outskirts of the town.

"The Shrieking Shack." Hermione said, turning back to where I was in one of her more thoughtless moments.

Charming name, charming place.

They broke open the back door (I made a note of the spell, on the off chance I could get it to work for me) led me through a series of grey, dilapidated and very cold rooms and then into another tunnel.

"Sorry." Ron said. "It's the only way we could think of to get you into Hogwarts."

And what, I wondered, did they plan to do with me once they got me into the fortress/school? I didn't ask them that of course. Planning didn't seem to be very valued by most of these wizards. What I was really wondering though was: "You guys have a secret passage into the school? Isn't that… kind of dangerous?"

I could think of half a dozen ways that having "secret" passages into _anywhere_ , let alone a school full of helpless and/or trigger-happy young wizards and witches, could end up being really disastrous.

Hermione glanced back "I think the wards will only let you come in if you're with a teacher or student. These passages are really old, made back when Hogwarts _had to be_ a castle you know. I don't think they wanted anyone to be trapped. Inside or outside."

That… actually kind of made sense. Oh yes, I'd forgotten to mention. Most of the walk out to the charming little haunted bungalow was dominated by the view of this honest-to-goodness, Hamlet-could-have-died-there _castle_ _._ It was very big. And very, very... _stone_. I'm not really a city boy, or a country boy either, but I'm _definitely_ not a fortress-in-the-middle-of-the-wild-moors-of-Scotland boy. Just for starters the wards to protect such a place had to be ridiculous. And there had to be wards. They'd said it was a boarding school, so people actually lived there.

"Hmm." was all I said, mostly because I was concentrating on not falling on my ass. One thing the children had not considered was that - despite Ronald Bilius' precocious height - they were still a good deal smaller than me. After about five minutes of "walking" down this tunnel (with the approximate carriage and gait of of a scoliotic chimpanzee,) trying not to trip on the magic cloak, I already had a persistent twinge in my lower back.

"This isn't a public tunnel or anything?" I asked.

I could _feel_ the girl's frown from in front of me. "No. Why?"

I whipped off the cloak immediately. "Because if I keep this on I'm going to break my neck."

"Oh." She made a little ducking motion with her head. She'd apparently forgotten. Ron shook his head. "We're um… almost there anyway."

In fact, the ground had already begun to rise several minutes before and she began to clamber up a small slope. I then realized that we had come to the end of the tunnel.

" _There_ , huh?" I said. Fort Hogwarts.

There seemed to be some sort of steep slope opening up in front of us. I could spot roots overhead. Hermione cocked her head for a moment and then tapped something, the hole widened into something I had a chance of maybe not getting stuck in.

Hermione jumped, grabbing a particularly large root and kicking wildly until she managed to pull herself up through the hole.

I followed promptly, if somewhat less gracefully.

"Mr. Dresden meet the Whomping Willow."

I raised my eyebrows. "It doesn't talk does it?" _Tell me it doesn't talk._

Hermione looked at me in that way that people sometimes do, the way that says, 'I would be calling the men in white suits if I wasn't genuinely concerned about what that would mean for my safety.'

I cleared my throat awkwardly, watching Ron pull himself up. "No talking trees. Safely in Tolkein-land where they belong. Got it."

Hermione raised an amused eyebrow.

"Room of requirement?" Ron asked, dusting himself off.

Hermione turned back to Ron as he wiggled through "Unless you wanted to hide him in the girl's dorm?"

"Very funny." Ron grunted.

I heard Hermione suck in a breath and freeze. A look of horrible comprehension slowly dawned on Ronald Bilius' face the same moment I heard a crisp, clipped Scottish accent say: " _Miss_ Granger." Miz Granger flinched. "Mister _Weas_ ley." Mr. Weasley gulped "Would you be so kind as to explain the meaning of this?"

I turned to face a tall, whippy-looking woman in a _very_ plaid bathrobe striding across the grass. She raised her eyebrows at me as if I were a reporter for the National Enquirer. "You must be Mr. Dresden." she said, with some resignation.

"If you say so." I said, holding my hands up in partly serious surrender.

Her eyebrows went up still further. I wasn't an expert, but she appeared to be _deeply_ unamused by my cheek.

Hermione was twisting the bottom of her sweater in her hands. "Professor, I'm so sorry, but there were aurors and Professor Dumbledore…."

McGonagall turned an incisive look on Miz Granger. "...and you thought it would be a good idea to obstruct an official DMLE investigation?"

"Er…" Hermione flushed pink and looked down at her hands, mumbling something further about 'Professor Dumbledore.'

'Professor' McGonagall took a long, deep breath through her nose and set her shoulders. She shook her head.

"Mister Weasley." Mr. Weasley once again looked up at her with the gaze of a pinned beetle "...does Molly know where you are?"

He gulped. "Uh, maybe?"

"I left her a note?" Hermione offered weakly at the same time.

McGonagall briefly lifted her eyes heavenward.

"You will…" McGonagall shot me another _look_ "... _all three of you_ , accompany me to my office."

Hermione and Ron shot me nearly identical pleading looks, and I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I followed after them as McGonagall almost galloped down the hall. I waved sorrowful goodbye to the Whomping Willow and its guaranteed silence. At least no one had been glaring at me in the tunnel. I mean, you have to be thick-skinned in my job, but honestly, I hadn't even _done_ anything to these people yet.

Still, I suppose I deserved it. I _had_ just allowed myself to be herded by two schoolchildren. I could only plead culture-shock for so long.

"How did you know where to find us?" I heard Hermione ask, trotting up to walk beside the Professor as we walked in the doors (which were approximately three times my height and which could probably have withstood a battering ram.)

This elicited another exasperated, whole-body sigh from the Professor. "Miss Granger, you may be very clever but you are also very predictable. I spoke with the Headmaster last evening, and Aberforth contacted me almost immediately after the Ministry arrived. Contrary to the opinions of the majority of Gryffindor house you are _not_ the only person in wizarding Britain capable of competence."

I imagined Hermione's mouth opening and closing like a goldfish's. I looked around. The place looked a lot like one of those old palaces turned into museums actually. Old, ornate wallpaper, tapestries, suites of armor. Gold-framed paintings everywhere. Well. Like a museum except for the fact that the paintings _moved_. I paused in front of a particularly large painting of a particularly fat centaur and Hermione opened her mouth, possibly to explain the details of the details of its birth, life, death, and/or immortalization in art, but then presumably thought better of it.

We had stopped in front of another (we'd passed quite a few) forbiddingly-large doorway, where McGonagall tapped her wand against the doorknob and it clicked open.

"Professor, since we're here, I was hoping we could use the library?" Hermione bit her lip, looking up at the older witch with a kind of niece-ly reticence. Apparently she'd gotten over the embarrassment of getting caught.

McGonagall went to sit behind her desk. "Miss Granger" she said sternly "Were it not exceedingly impractical and had the school year yet begun, I would be seriously considering _revoking_ your library privileges. Your actions were _deeply_ irresponsible and terribly dangerous... and _yes_ Albus told me about your little expedition to Diagon Alley..." she sighed. "...as it is, the Headmaster has already requested that I make Hogwarts' resources available to our guest." she inclined her head politely towards me.

"Where _is_ Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked, tone earnest.

McGonagall gave her a sour look. "Miss Granger. While I am sure the Headmaster would be flattered with your interest in his personal life, I am neither within my rights in, nor desirous of, telling you anything of his whereabouts, digestion, preference in hair care products, or any other thing which it might occur to you to ask after. Is that clear?"

' _Looking for Mr. H. Potter'_ we all translated.

"He's regathered the Order of the Phoenix hasn't he?" Hermione asked quietly. It made me wonder whether the girl was much sharper than I'd thought, or whether it was one of those 'secrets everyone knows.' I supposed both could be possible.

" _Miss_ Granger." McGonagall closed her eyes and took another deep breath.

The Professor then turned to me. "I would be _delighted_ to take you on a tour of our library Mr. Dresden I hope that we have something will prove useful to you."

So I was being babysat. First by Dumbledore's touchy brother and now by his… Deputy Headmistress? It all sounded very English. Even if she was Scottish. Anyhow.

I looked over at the children. Hermione was practically bouncing on her toes in anticipation.

"Yes, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, you may accompany us." McGonagall turned to Ron. "I have already sent your mother a note. I have no doubt that she will eventually come to retrieve you." ...then under her breath: "If I'm lucky."

Ron gulped.

I really didn't want to know how they'd gotten away from the Burrow.

* * *

The library _was_ very impressive. I have a decent collection of grimoires, sure. But this… this was… kid in a candy store doesn't _begin_ to cover it. More like Aladdin in a cave, full of mountains of silver and jewels shaped into fruit (I've always wondered about that by the way, why would anyone want fruit-shaped jewels specifically?) and piles of gold that are all (potentially) death to touch.

"Have they considered the Dewey Decimal System?" I asked after getting lost in a row that contained (among other things) tomes on what looked like onieromancy, scrying, botany, and at least a few bestiaries.

Hermione shot me a look of shared exasperation.

Ah. Right. Muggleborn. Of course she'd know.

McGonagall then gave me a truly bewildering tour, which I'm sure would have been very illuminating if I'd been raised in their world. She then pointed me to a section that she called "spontaneous magic." (Which was not labelled as such, of course, and also contained several books on the proper way to 'harvest' bowtruckles. Whatever those were.)

"What, there's no alternate universe section?" I asked.

McGonagall gave me a curious look. "I'm not sure what you mean Mr. Dresden, are you... under the impression that you've been translated between worlds?"

By that point I was, yes. I paused there though, suddenly realizing that perhaps alternate universes were not a concept she was familiar with. "Uh. _Maybe_? I thought that was the assumption we were _all_ operating under?"

I didn't need to worry. She tilted her head as she seemed to consider my statement. "I am not sure why you thought that Mr. Dresden. My understanding was that some sort of dualistic magic had taken place. As we all know," _riiight "..._ it is unwise to interfere with these sort of exchanges. Magic has, for whatever reason, determined your current positions to be superior and so forcibly, materially relocating either you or Mister Potter would likely be ineffective." she saw my confused look, and explained: "You likely would have woken up in the same situation as you did yesterday. So, even if Mister Potter is in a…" she frowned at the idea "... _different_ America the process to reverse the exchange should theoretically be the same."

That made... no sense. But then this had never happened to me before, so I supposed I'd have to rely on precedent.

Well. So where was Dumbledore if he wasn't looking his missing savior, but expecting him to make his own way home or trusting "Magic" to put him back where he belonged? Not that it bothered me of course, at least he wasn't there breathing down _my_ neck.

"Well. _That's_ encouraging." I said dryly. "Anyone ever done that?"

A brief dip of the head."I believe so, but most of the books on the subject are in Durmstrang." the Professor said matter-of-factly. Then, she said, looking almost apologetic: "It is, fortunately or unfortunately, a rather rare happening."

She _believed_ so. Very encouraging. ...and I might be a wizard, but even _I_ know how to use a Xerox machine. (It's pretty simple the way they work actually, I can usually get a good ten/twenty sheets out before the machine sputters and dies.) Or traveling exhibitions. That could work. Or an inter-library loan system. That would be fine too…

The Professor stood there for a moment, head cocked, clearly sorting through a dozen questions that she wanted to ask. From her explanations of the various books and subjects I could tell she'd already figured out things were more… freeform in "my world." (And didn't that phrase sound strange?)

She glanced over to the table where Miz Granger had set up an ominous-looking spread of very large, very moldy old books. "I believe you are still somewhat unfamiliar with your new wand Mr. Dresden?" she asked.

I nodded.

She nodded back; another stiff, curt, swivel of the head. "Hm. Fortunately, I imagine that it will be unnecessary for you, an adult wizard, to work your way through the complete seven year curriculum. What sort of magic do you favor?"

 _Anything that gets me out alive_? I thought, but said: "Ah… I suppose you already heard I've got a… knack for pyromancy?"

She inclined her head in assent. _Damn_ , this woman had a poker face to match the queen of hearts'.

"Tracking spells." My bread and butter. "Summonings." Also a practice makes perfect kind of thing. "Kinetic stuff? Scrying?" I said, trying to be general when I saw her begin to frown "Duels?" Not that those usually turn out well for me "...anything really, as long as it's not delicate work like veils or fuzzy like onieromancy…" which is basically bullshit anyway, at least what people usually think of as oneiromancy is, but I was a guest and had no idea what their standards were so I decided to keep my opinions to myself.

I gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. "Mainly... breaking things… I'm decent with potions."

Perhaps I imagined her eyes widening ever so slightly.

"Is that a surprise?" I asked, unable to help myself.

"Potions is a rather…" she paused, clearly trying to find some inoffensive way of expressing her thoughts "...precise and challenging subject Mr. Dresden, very few people can even claim competency."

I wasn't sure whether I should be offended by her surprise or not, but just raised _my_ eyebrows at that. " _Precise_?'

"Very." The Professor said. I couldn't quite make out the look she was giving me.

"Not _my_ potions." I said. They're about the least scientific thing I do, and that's saying something.

Again I saw a dozen questions teetering on the tip of her tongue. She pursed her lips. "Well, perhaps we can address that issue at another time. Basic wand competency is probably your most immediate concern I imagine?" she shot me another one of those assaying, questioning looks.

I nodded. Basic survival skills. I liked how this woman thought already. _Ah_ … _and_ if there was some sort of sympathetic/symmetry magic going on, if I got hurt or killed things didn't look good for their little wizard savior. But I was fine with enlightened self-interest as a motivation.

"So. What are we starting on?" Ron asked when McGonagall and I arrived at the overburdened table.

 _We_?

"Well," Hermione said "Obviously it doesn't make sense for him to work his way through all the textbooks, why would he want to turn a needle into a matchstick anyway?" she asked.

"Why would _we_?" Ron muttered.

McGonagall - I was already beginning to admire her sangfroid - simply ignored them.

Hermione turned towards me "...and you know how to cast spells, so really, the important thing is learning what's specific to a wand. Right?" She looked at McGonagall questioningly. The professor gave another of her curt nods, and then turned to consider me with the gaze of a PR person who has just been hired to rehabilitate Marilyn Manson.

"You said kinetics. Can you make things float?" McGonagall asked, suddenly all business again.

"Yes." I nodded slowly.

"Great." Hermione said "So we do it like this: ' _Wingardium Leviosa.'_ " her wand made a rather elaborate swishy movement, and the Standard Book of Spells Grade 7 obligingly floated off the tabletop. Her demonstration was presumably satisfactory since McGonagall made no move to correct her.

"Wingardium Leviosa." I said, attempting to imitate the movement she'd made. Really. I get the whole pseudo-Latin thing, I do it myself, but why did all the spells sound like they were invented by ten-year-olds?

Ron burst out laughing and I looked over at him, slightly concerned. After all, it had been a rough day.

He grinned at Hermione. "It's Lev-i- _o-_ sa, not Lev-io- _sa_!"

"Oh, shut up." Hermione muttered, trying and failing to smother a smile.

I repeated the spell with what was presumably the correct pronunciation and… _voila_ … floating textbook. Almost too easy. There was a part of me that was waiting for the other boot to drop. We were well into Year 5 material (Me: " _What year are you in again?"_ McGonagall raises eyebrows. Wunderkind: " _Fourth year, now, why do you ask?"_ ) by the time it did. Because... my subconscious is an asshole, I guess. You see, as soon as I wasn't worried about being completely defenseless it occurred to me that a lot of what Aberforth had said seemed particularly fuzzy (fuzzier than my alcohol-induced stupidity actually warranted I mean.)

" _So_ …" I directed towards McGonagall "...how exactly did this Voldemort" _flinch_ "guy come back from the dead?"

Huh. Come to think of it, people seemed to avoid saying the name, and often responded poorly when it was used. It couldn't be his true name obviously (no one's parents are _that_ weird,) but did it have summoning properties? Though they seemed to be pretty careless about their own names here, so perhaps that was not a field that had even been researched thoroughly? Perhaps… perhaps names actually didn't _matter_ here ? But how could that be?

It then occurred to me that McGonagall probably wouldn't want to share in front of the children even if she did know.

"No one is really sure." McGonagall admitted reluctantly.

"You don't _know_?" I said, eyes goggling. "It's not like people _spontaneously_ come back from the dead." Not exactly anyway. There are… ways, but most of them are pretty cumbersome, and all of them require dark magic. Though this Voldemort guy didn't sound like he was squeamish about that sort of thing. "How do you plan to get rid of him if you don't know how he got here?" "How do you plan to keep him gone?" I shot the questions at her in a way I'm kind of ashamed of now. But it was just unthinkable to me that this was not _everyone's_ first priority.

McGonagall looked at me, tight-lipped. "Perhaps the Headmaster knows." she allowed reluctantly.

"...and he hasn't seen fit to share this information with anyone?" I asked. I was trying not to let my own master/apprentice/daddy-issues get in the way of a professional relationship with this guy, but he was _really_ starting to get on my nerves.

"If you'll forgive me for saying so, you seem to have enough to be getting on with yourself Mr. Dresden." McGonagall said stiffly.

"Look lady." I cut her off. (I'm chivalrous like that.) "If I'm supposed to believe what you're saying - and it _does_ sound _just_ batshit enough to actually be true - either there's some sort of symmetry thing going on, or the answer to all of this is so backasswards that I'm never going to get to go home, right?"

I got a slight movement of the head that I decided to count as a nod, and charged onward: "So dealing with your Dark Lord infestation is about as close as I can come to solving the problem I _should_ be dealing with at home, and if that's the "Reason," capital R, I'm here so much the better." "Also. If you guys don't know how to banish this… murderous _thing_ and I do, then it just makes sense for me to do it."

I saw the two children looking at me like they now expected me to be struck down by lightning.

McGonagall tilted her head, and though her face was as forbiddingly closed and stern as before, I somehow felt she was smiling. "Your logic is simply irrefutable Mr. Dresden." She paused and I counted one slow McGonagall-esque blink. "Where do you suggest we begin?"

I thought about that for a moment. "Well, I'd like to exorcise him…" at least the thing with little Harry in his first year _sounded_ like possession, even if the poor kid hadn't been able to really get rid of him "...and send him packing back to the underworld immediately, but for starters do you have anything that belonged to this guy?"

She tilted her head the other way. "I take it you're looking to establish a magical link and in that way determine his location?"

"Sure, let's go with that." I said.

McGonagall's lips thinned into a look that I was beginning to recognize as frustration. "Unfortunately Mr. Dresden the only possession we have of his is unsuitable for your purposes."

I raised my eyebrows. She sounded awfully sure of that. "Well, you never know. Why don't you let me take a look at it? I can pick up pretty faint traces."

McGonagall frowned. "No, Mr. Dresden, you misunderstand me, _nothing_ remains of this object except its physical form. It has been magically extinguished."

"Uh... " I'd never heard of that. "How exactly do you _do_ something like that?" I asked.

McGonagall gave me another inscrutable look. "Typically? Fiendfyre or basilisk venom. There is also some anecdotal evidence to suggest that pyromantic-oriented geomancy has a similar effect."

Basilisks. If I recalled correctly Hermione had defined them as 'giant snakes.' Which meant that the 'object' in question was likely the creepy, mind-altering diary. Which meant that all of this was possibly more complicated than I'd thought… if the diary had somehow facilitated a possession…. "Pyromantic geomancy?" I asked, unable to help myself.

"Dropping things into volcanoes." McGonagall said, with a completely straight face.

It took me a moment to process that. "Ah. Well."

McGonagall apparently had nothing to add to that. The two teens had observed our exchange with an expression that I've only seen in people watching professional tennis, as if trying to convince themselves that watching a life-size version of Pong is a truly fascinating way to spend their time.

"Hmm. Could I look at it anyway. ...and is there someplace I could use as a sort of lab?" I asked.

McGonagall gave me another one of those odd looks, which I was beginning to think meant that she was considering something she considered stupidly reckless… which was probably good news for me.

Her lip then quirked a fraction of a millimeter. "Mister Weasley, Miss Granger, would you be so good as to lead Mr. Dresden to the dungeons?"

* * *

There were apparently a number of classrooms in the bowels of the castle, which might _actually_ have been dungeons at one point. Imagine the creepiest science classroom you've ever seen, then add pickled pig-fetuses floating in formaldehyde, little pots of sentient-looking molds, plants that look like they'd strangle you if they could get out of their jars… all with Translyvanian/Black Forest levels of light.

McGonagall returned, in very short order, with a burnt-out carcass of a book that had a gigantic hole through it.

After several minutes of eager-orphan eyes from Hermione I explained what I was doing. Which was a terrible, _terrible_ mistake, because then she started asking _questions_. And they _never_ _stopped_. I was reminded then of the more selfish reasons I'd never taken an apprentice.

"Are there any non-imitative tracking spells in your… magic?" was Miz Granger's umpteenth question.

"You mean that doesn't use thaumaturgy?" I said. Because, honestly, I didn't want to admit it, but McGonagall was right, I was pretty much doing the magical equivalent of twiddling my thumbs. I couldn't get anything from the book. Living things leave traces behind them. Even a grocery list normally has some residual magic (not much, and probably not enough for a tracking spell, let alone the… iffier sorts of thaumaturgy, but _some_ ) a living thing even more. (Though using someone's pet, for example, would be complicated, since it's own magic would interfere with your "signal.") Even dead things have a kind of energy associated with them…

 _That._ That was what had been bothering me. The thing reeked of death. It was an inanimate object that had _died_.

That… wasn't possible.

I glanced up at McGonagall. "Do you know of any way that someone could anchor themselves to an object instead of their own body?"

Because that could explain a lot. Except for the fact that this guy's book _and_ body had been killed already, which meant… oh _shit_. Or _shite_ , as they seemed to like to say.

McGonagall's jaw dropped suddenly, and she recovered just as quickly. "I would prefer not to discuss this in front of the children."

This elicited two almost identical squeals of outrage from said children.

I waved a hand in their direction. "So you _do_ know what this is?"

"We have our suspicions." McGonagall evaded.

I let out a grunt of frustration. "You can't keep doing this. Either you folks trust me or you don't. Either you want help or you don't. If you keep on bullshitting me I'm going to end up doing more harm than good." Of course, there was always the option for me to do nothing. But really? That was never going to happen anyway. Not even _I_ am that dishonest with myself.

I sighed. "I don't really expect you to trust me. No skin off my nose, no one does." "Except for them," I jerked my head towards the teenagers to my right "...because they're idiots. No offense." I said, and Hermione ducked her head in acknowledgement.

"...but if you don't trust me, why help? Why waste valuable time and risk valuable people?" I asked. We really had been begging the question after all.

McGonagall actually looked amused. "Mr. Dresden, I understand that you are new to our world and are not on familiar terms with any of us… " she re-canted her head, apparently deciding on a different tack: "You are correct, the Headmaster does not trust you. I, however, do - the children do, Magic, apparently, does - and Albus is reluctant to issue actual orders. So…" she shrugged "...here you are."

'Cat that got the cream' was both a completely trite and completely accurate description of her expression when she said that.

I licked my lips, not quite sure what to say to such a blatant and - let's be honest - unwarranted declaration of support. "That so?"

McGonagall's head tilted, very, very slightly "That is so. I believe magic has placed you here for a reason. If you are able to help us oppose Voldemort so much the better."

"I see." was all I said.

McGonagall actually smiled. A real smile, not the one that made her look like she'd just eaten a mouse. She gestured towards the former-book: "How is your investigation coming along?"

I shot her a look that suggested I would like to see her slowly roasting over an open flame. She canted her head with that same poker-face innocence, as if to say: ' _I'm still waiting. Mr. Dresden'_ In the same 'tone' that she had used to address the younglings.

"I got nuthin'." I said finally.

I could have kicked something. Here I had gone and gotten myself involved in some weird wizarding Spy vs. Spy... _thing_ , and my idea had promptly run face-first into a dead end. They had no objects to track Voldemort with. They didn't know where he was, no family bonds to track him with... they really didn't know _who_ he was... the possession was apparently enough to destroy the guy he'd used as a host…

I... was an idiot. I turned to Ron. "Where's your sister?"

I thanked any and all the higher powers that Miz Granger had no notion of confidentiality or even common sense. Then again, everyone probably _knew_ that the little Weasley had been kidnapped already.

McGonagall stiffened. "You are _not_ involving Miss Weasley in this."

Before I said anything Ronald Bilius (who up until that point had been doing a very convincing impression of Sleeping Beauty in the corner armchair) blurted out: "She would _want_ to help. She should at least get the _chance!"_

I turned because there was something in his voice that made me pause. Like when you yell into what you expect to be a tiny room and somehow get a huge echo back. I felt bad then. Obviously the girl would have had a rough time if she'd been possessed. It would have been hard enough if she'd just been enthralled or even influenced by the object, but possession... that sort of thing leaves marks on people.

Which, I'm sorry to say, was what I was counting on.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm so sorry this update took so long. Also that it's so short. I came on here - last week... two/three weeks ago? - to update, replied to a few messages and then promptly realized that I needed to rewrite the entire chapter. My bad. Mea culpa. I grovel in mortification, etc, etc.

* * *

 **Also:**

 _Anat_ (since you had a guest review and I don't know how else to respond):

Yes, Dresden is going to have a serious problem with Dumbledore, and rather soon. There is _no way_ I'm going to forgo the dramatic value of a pissed off Dresden.

...and sure, of course you can translate it into Polish if you'd like. Just give me credit, blah, blah, blah… Also, I'm guessing that it's not the actual origin of your name, but you still get awesome-points for bringing to mind the kick-ass warrior goddess. Be well. (Anat and everybody.)


	8. Ch 8 - Getting Warmer (Potter)

The first thing Harry was aware of was a sharp, stinging sensation on his right cheek, and then - after the immediate, bright painfulness of the well-lighted living room - the sight of Tam's long, pale face peering down at him.

He blinked. He blinked again.

"Hi." he croaked, for lack of anything better to say.

"Tam!" two voices, women, yelled. "You can't _do_ that." Muirgen said.

"Brilliant." Murphy drawled at the same time. "Give him a concussion too, why don't you?"

Tam looked at his wife with wide puppy-eyes. "Why not? I was careful."

They had, Harry realized, put him on the couch. That was nice. Much better than the floor. Had he been on the floor? He couldn't remember. Lieutenant Murphy appeared by the armrest closest to his head and looked at him worriedly. That was nice too. Nice that she was alive. _Huh._ The thought didn't have the sharp edges to it that he'd have expected. Murphy looked as if she'd been making to put a hand on his forehead, or through his hair, and then thought better of it.

Muirgen, meanwhile, stalked over, grabbing Tam by the scruff of his shirt and hissing: " _You_. Go take a shower. Or make lunch. Or pick your nose. But get _out of here_. Your bedside manner is _shite._ I'm not even sure I should have entrusted him to you while he was _unconscious."_

Tam got up though, slowly unfolding himself from his crouching position, and leaned to whisper in Muirgen's ear. "He _looked_ like he was having a nightmare, my heart."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He'd thought the dementor-induced nightmares had stopped last year. Muirgen turned a furious red: "...and your stage-whispering also leaves something to be desired. _Babe._ " "Get out. Now." she jabbed a finger to her right, where there was a wide doorway that seemed to open into an even sunnier room than the one they were currently in.

Tam headed towards what Harry assumed was the kitchen (lots of whitish, shiny surfaces just beyond the doorway) and Muirgen dropped, or rather, _folded_ \- like a neat little piece of origami - down to kneel beside Harry.

She put her hand to his forehead and Harry couldn't help but jerk back. _Personal space_. He grit his teeth.

"Apologies." she lifted her hand, and it hovered there, as if she were gauging the air around him "You do not appear to be injured, simply spent." Muirgen smiled then. "You did well child, truly."

 _Right_. You make a wall of fire to escape from a knock-down, drag-out _battle_ between elf-things and zombies and all you get is a 'you did well child' for your trouble. Harry gave a mental shrug.

"Thanks." he said, and then immediately began to cough.

Muirgen flicked her fingers and a glass of water appeared in her hand, then turned to regard Murphy's wide eyes.

"Do you not know the wizard my husband spoke of?" she asked Murphy, a tiny frown appearing between her eyebrows.

"No, I mean, yes, but he doesn't… do things like that." Murphy finished, looking more confused at the end than she'd been before she'd begun. Harry looked at her quizzically. Apparently her wizard didn't do things like shrink coats or float people either, so what _did_ he do?

Muirgen tilted her head as if considering that. "Well. Not everyone has a talent for it. ...and few mortals have had the opportunity to practice for as long as I have."

"So you're not…" Murphy trailed off, probably, Harry thought, wondering if there was a polite way to ask if someone was a soulless immortal with a lying handicap. Likely not.

Muirgen raised an eyebrow. "One of the Fae? No."

She offered no additional information, but instead swiveled back towards Harry. "Drink." she commanded. And he did, since he didn't really see any problem with complying, seeing as how he felt like he'd been pressed out like a used squeegee.

Muirgen put her hand to his head again when Harry took a break from drinking and he began to feel the same soft, fuzzy gold feeling that had made it possible for him to fight the dementors. (Or whatever they actually were. He didn't really care by that point.) He jerked back without thinking, water sloshing over the sides of the glass.

"Are you alright?" Muirgen asked, suddenly looking concerned.

Harry took another couple of quick swallows, finally feeling able to actually speak: "It's just… what is that? What are you doing?"

Muirgen frowned, as if she had not actually considered what she had been doing, and had certainly never been asked to explain it. Which... how could you _do_ magic without knowing how it worked? Harry wondered.

"You know that magic that you worked, with the stag made of light?" she asked after a long moment.

"The patronus." Harry offered.

" _That_ is a perfect name…" Muirgen laughed softly, then seemed to recall that she was supposed to be providing an explanation: "If that is a patronus, this is…" her head bobbled from side to side "...mother-magic, I suppose. I cannot imitate what you did, there are magicks that are… closed to me now, but what I just did is similar, though it is hard to explain exactly how."

Muirgen said nothing after that, but continued to look at him closely.

"I'd…" Harry found that he wasn't quite sure of what he wanted to say. "I'd rather not." he said, trying for an apologetic tone.

Muirgen tilted her head, after only the briefest glance towards Lieutenant Murphy.

"I'm sorry… I just…" Harry stopped because he wasn't sure what 'he just…' meant, did, wanted, felt.

Muirgen smiled slightly, sadly, Murphy thought. "There's no need to be sorry _bairnie_. I did not think to ask. It is just… you seemed very vulnerable to the despair of of the _sluagh_?" she shot him a questioning look, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

"I..." Harry stalled. He had noticed the absence of everyone else from their little 'company' from before, and that, in turn, suddenly called up a memory of a pale white-greenish face, slashed with red, that he hadn't even been aware of storing away. He felt rather bad that he hadn't thought of them before. Lieutenant Murphy had been fine and that had been enough for him. Which wasn't _really_ fair of him, as he didn't know her very much better than anyone else he'd met. "Is everyone okay?" he asked, after riding out the initial wave of nausea.

Muirgen smiled again, as if her question had been answered. She had pulled back and was almost as far away from him as Lieutenant Murphy at the head of the couch. "Most, bairnie. Most."

Harry looked at Murphy, feeling like he might get a better idea of what was going on and what had really happened from her; her facial expressions were more... honest.

"Come." Muirgen brought her hands to her lap in a movement indicating some sort of finality. "If you can stand, we should go eat. We have much to do."

Harry frowned. He was, he realized, getting rather tired of being told what to do and going from place to place for no real reason.

" _Come_." Muirgen stood and beckoned them again. "I'm sure you both have questions, but you are also weary, and food will strengthen your heart."

Murphy considered that. "Sure. I could eat." she said, getting up slowly. Yes, _'w_ _eary_ ' was exactly the right word.

Harry hadn't been unconscious that long, but the adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving her exhausted and full of questions. So many questions. She hadn't had a chance to ask many of them, as Tam had disappeared to order people about (presumably) and Muirgen had decided to thoroughly examine Bob's still-vacant skull with magical tests that Murphy didn't understand and didn't particularly want to. (Muirgen had offered no explanation of where Bob was now, and, honestly, it hadn't been Murphy's first priority anyway.)

Muirgen led the way to the kitchen, and Murphy bent -well, really she was shorter than him, so she leaned - over and murmured: "Are you really okay?"

From the indeterminate expression on Harry's face, he didn't quite know what to do with that question. He still looked pretty pale. Harry cocked his head. "Yeah. I think so."

"Is that sort of thing common for you guys?" Murphy asked as they came into the kitchen, Harry sliding onto a bar stool, Murphy hovering by the counter, just barely stopping herself from asking if she could help Muirgen with anything (years of conditioning from big-family, big-meal preparations at work.) It was a wide, spotless kitchen, with a dowdy white refrigerator and full of blond wood, with sharp sunlight slicing through the blinds that covered the nearby wall of glass doors. "The… uh… fighting, I mean?" she clarified.

Muirgen made an ambivalent gesture that used both her head and shoulders as she ducked into the fridge. "Maybe yes, maybe no? I am not sure what people mean by that any more. It has been a fair few years since I have fought; I do not delight in battle as Tam does, and they'd had no need of me."

As if on cue, Tam slid open one of the glass doors, strolling in from the... _a patio_? Murphy squinted through the blinds. Did they have a _pool_? That was just wrong somehow. Fairies with little kidney-bean pools and plastic lawn chairs... Her world was officially broken.

He was also, Murphy realized, carrying a paper plate stacked high with sandwiches, holding it out to her.

Murphy froze. "Uh…"

Muirgen huffed before either Murphy or Harry could say anything though.

"Don't tell me you spent the last fifteen minutes making sandwiches they can't _eat_?" Muirgen asked, eyebrow raised with a kind of half-hearted scolding expression.

Tam bit into a sandwich, and still somehow managed to look like he wasn't talking with his mouth full: "Of course not darling, I was calling Titania. And these are for me."

Murphy just barely squelched a noise of disbelief, and Tam barely turned his head saying: "Yes, _that_ Titania, Lady Murphy."

Muirgen had her arms crossed, and her head cocked at an angle that somehow showed her disapproval. "Are you really sure you want her involved?"

Tam's grin turned mischievous "I don't know. Would you prefer Mab?"

Muirgen made little grumbling, rumbling sound that could have been uncharitably characterized as a growl.

Tam grinned, holding out a triangle of bread. "Have a sandwich beloved, you sound hungry."

" _You_." Muirgen grabbed the sandwich corner and gave him a glare that didn't seem to be entirely feigned.

" _I._ " Tam agreed merrily, and turned towards Harry and Murphy, apparently hoping for a more receptive audience, but still spoke as if his words were for Muirgen: "Titania is going to be involved whether we want her to be or not, my sweet. She was an ally of Frigg's, and has some claim to her former holdings. Better that we all start out as friends in this. As much as we can anyway." He amended "Methinks this necromancer is smarter than the last. After all, wizards are not such fools as to blunder into the lands that concern the Fae in pursuit of one who has, as of yet, done little harm."

"But he _will_." Muirgen objected. "You smelled the magic on him. You must have. He has gone through one of the rites. Or he has called himself back from the grave with an anchor."

Were they talking about some sort of black magic recidivism perhaps? Harry wondered. Amusing thoughts of _St. Brutus'_ hovered just on the edge of his consciousness...

 _What_? Murphy mouthed at Harry, who gave a bemused shrug. So. Not a thing in his world. _Maybe_. She kept forgetting how young he was when she asked questions like that. Maybe you needed to have a wizarding PhD before you learned about that sort of thing?

Tam ran a hand through his hair. "Aye. And I'll leave the wizarding to you my lady. You've never failed in aught that ought to be done."

Muirgen glanced at him, amused again. "Flatterer. And you?"

"Depends." Tam shot Harry and Murphy a look. "Think we should risk contacting the Erlkönig?"

Muirgen gazed flickered towards Harry. "I hope we'll have no need."

Harry, Murphy noticed, was sitting there with a look so attentive and focused that it was borderline disturbing. "I don't understand." she said.

Tam cocked his head, as if honestly confused. "What is there to understand Lady Murphy? We ready a force for battle. As for you, I will be happy to return you to your own place."

Murphy crossed her arms, and looked at him pointedly. She wasn't really thrilled with allying with these people _or_ with trying to deal with the Ice Bitch all by her lonesome. The question was just which option was worse.

"What about Harry?" Murphy jerked her head in his direction.

Tam suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I… Lady Murphy, I cannot in good conscience leave him without protection. We would be responsible for him in any case, he is f..."

Muirgen cut him off with a sharp look. That was fine, Murphy wasn't buying it anyway.

Muirgen took over: "The situation is more dangerous than you know. The Necromancer is aware of of the connection between your Dresden and Master Potter. He may even be responsible for creating it. Regardless, Harry is in no way prepared to deal with him. I fear that to let him loose in Chicago would be a sentence of death." She frowned. "It may yet be that no matter what we do." she then turned to regard Harry, saying: "I wish to teach you to walk between worlds, I would sooner have you able to run from a fight you are not equal to. Now. Ham, beef, pastrami or venison?" she asked suddenly, hand on the refrigerator.

Murphy had to again repress the urge to break into hysterical laughter at the whole situation. Instead of doing that, she replied: "Pastrami for me. I don't care what else you put on it."

That matter settled (Murphy realized with a sinking feeling that it was probably the _only_ matter she was going to settle in the immediate future, how fortunate that she'd cleared her day for a Dresden-emergency) Murphy turned to Tam again. "You both sound pretty blasé about the whole situation."

Tam shrugged, watching Muirgen solicitously drill Harry about his sandwich preferences. "Would you prefer that I rend my garments and pour ashes on my head?"

Murphy eyed the Green Lantern shirt, thinking that _perhaps_ if he did "rend" his clothes it wouldn't be that great a loss. But it wasn't that she really objected to his lack of… gravitas? Was that the right word? Mab, after all, had gravitas aplenty… What was it then? She frowned. "It's just that… the way you talk, _both_ of you," she glanced toward Muirgen who was holding up two different kinds of mustard "I can't tell whether the world is coming down around our ears or if it's business as usual."

Tam gave her a look that could almost be considered charming. "Why Lady Murphy, can't it be both?" He stuffed another sandwich corner in his mouth, saying sagely: "There are often great matters at hand, but real life is lived in between those great matters."

"We nearly _died_." Murphy snarled, experiencing a sudden, violent flare of frustration which left her feeling unbalanced and almost irrationally fed up with him.

Tam's smile had disappeared. "And yet we are alive. So we make merry, and pray that our good fortune will continue." he said this with a finality that seemed to nip their not-quite-conversation in the bud. But then he asked: "Would you feel better if someone were throwing sharp objects at you?"

Murphy did a double-take. "What?"

Tam put on a patient look. "Would you be more at ease and or would you know where you stood if someone were trying to kill you?"

Muirgen popped up from behind the refrigerator door. "He's asking if you'd like to have a bout. Swords most likely."

"Exactly." Tam gave a sharp nod. Then turned back to her with a questioning look: "I assume you _are_ keeping company with us?"

Murphy looked at Harry again, then nodded back.

"Then it will serve you well to…"

"My lord!" Legolas-lite from before rushed into the room, but without any of the stomping sounds that would have announced a running human.

Tam raised an eyebrow. "Miach."

"My lord." Miach did another half-bow, acknowledging Muirgen "Winter's messenger has arrived. He awaits you in the upper courts."

Tam nodded slowly. "I see. I appreciate your haste, though I am not sure whether it is due him."

Miach smirked ever so slightly, ducking his head to hide it, long dark hair swishing over his shoulders like he was a girl in a Vogue ad. "If you did not know of his presence, any delay would be left to chance. Now you can _make_ _him_ wait if you so desire."

Tam's face widened into a grin, nodding to Muirgen. "Well said. As always. Attend me Miach." He made a flicking motion with his hand and strode forward, Miach falling into place behind him. Then Tam turned his turning towards Murphy, inquiring politely: "Lieutenant Murphy, will you come?"

"You…" Murphy spluttered… she heard Muirgen snigger. "You've known this whole time haven't you." she stated, not questioned. Though she suddenly realized that he might not know what she was talking about. He seemed to go back and forth between extremely archaic turns of phrase and modern slang with no real rhyme or reason.

But Tam's grin said he knew _exactly_ what she was thinking. "You are not just fair of face are you Lady Murphy?"

Murphy glared at him. "You've been doing that just to annoy me haven't you?

Tam inclined his head. "Just so. It will not impede our working relationship I hope?"

"Don't try to wring his neck." Muirgen advised "I've held out for this long, surely you can manage to spare him until this is all over."

 _Until it's all over._ Now _that_ had a nasty undertone to it, Murphy thought.

"Go." Muirgen said. "Harry and I will finish our sandwiches and meet you later on the practice grounds."

Murphy shot Harry a questioning look.

"Lady Murphy." Tam said, almost gently. "If either of us had wished you harm it would have been done long before now. You must trust someone." the last part was also directed at Harry, who paused, then nodded at Murphy.

* * *

Murphy almost tripped as they walked out the front door. The generic tiled foyer - there were, Murphy's eyes bugged out, _flip flops_ sitting by the mat - opened out onto a grand, shallow flight of steps. The steps, in turn, led down to a large, circular gravel drive, and out beyond and all around them was grass, grass and more grass. The grounds would have looked better on a manor, or perhaps even a palace. She then turned back to see a gigantic stone edifice that looked like it belonged on one of those shows on Masterpiece Theatre. She did actually trip then.

 _Well, shit._

Tam just grinned as he stepped out. "She always knows exactly what's needed, my keep." he patted one of the dark oak doors - approximately two stories high themselves. There was no sign of the blank white door she had walked out of.

 _She?_ But Murphy's attention immediately fixed on the only other being in the vast courtyard.

At first she thought she must have been going crazy, then she realized that if that were the case, she'd actually been crazy for a long time.

Because "Winter's messenger" was what looked like either a very small, very dark snow leopard, or a very, _very_ large housecat. No, she decided, it was closer to the size of a tiny cougar.

It made a grumbling, growling sound. Perhaps it could be called purring. If Hannibal Lecter purred. Murphy shivered.

Tam tilted his head regally, apparently insensible of the fact that he was wearing the equivalent of sweaty gym clothes. "Greetings emissary."

The cat-thing spoke without preamble: "My mistress bids you return the young wizard and Dresden's ally if you wish to remain in her good graces. They are under her protection."

Tam did not look amused. Murphy saw a look of alarm suddenly bloom up on Miach's face. It spelled _disaster_ though she wasn't exactly sure why. But, she thought back to the brief interaction Tam'd had with Bob the Skull, she had a few ideas...

Tam stepped forward, saying: "I would as lief be a meal in the belly of one of Lea's hounds as be in her good graces Grimalkin, and I fear the same ought to be said for any who have the misfortune to be under her protection. And do you tell _my lady_ so."

 _Grimalkin_ \- what kind of name was _that_? - had been backing away as Tam stalked forward, matching him step for step.

"She will not be pleased." Grimalkin grumbled.

Tam's grin showed a rather large number of teeth. "What felicity that it is no longer my concern whether she be pleased or no."

"This is no way to treat the mouthpiece of the Queen." Grimalkin sounded sullen.

"Not _my_ queen." Tam said flatly. "Go Old Woman, hie you back to the Northern Tower and tell her that I will have her words from her own mouth or not at all. If she wished to treat with me in truth, she would have done so long ago. I am no wayward child to be frightened into doing her bidding by a mere _beast_."

"You are a fool." Grimalkin snarled, and while it didn't seem to have much in the way of facial expressions it was difficult not to imagine it sneering.

Tam's face contorted, suddenly as full of rage as it had been before Harry had stunned him. "Aye, cat. But I am my own fool. Now _go_."

"She…" Grimalkin's tail twitched nervously.

Tam eyes narrowed to slits. "I see your fear of the queen keeps you here." He took another step forward. "What of your fear of me creature?" Another step "Or have you forgotten what it was to face me in battle?" Another step, and Grimalkin took two back "Perhaps I should refresh your memory."

"She will not let this stand." Grimalkin complained.

"I said _BE GONE!"_ Tam roared.

Grimalkin gave Tam one last sullen look and then cantered off, gathering surprising speed as soon as he was on the straightway.

Miach shot Murphy a _look_ , not unlike the kind she used to share with her cousins when an elder aunt or uncle was being particularly… stubborn.

Tam sped down the steps, trotting down with the careless, athletic stutter of a mountain goat.

"What was _that_?" Murphy asked Miach, emboldened by what seemed to be their shared understanding.

Miach opened his mouth, then closed it.

"We should follow." Miach said, after a long moment.

And so they did. As soon as they caught up to Tam, Miach fell back. Murphy, surprisingly, felt abandoned. She dealt with a lot of stuff in her line of work, but Tam was… unpredictable. And she still felt distinctly out of her element.

They were, she realized, heading around the... house, manor, palace?

"Thank you." she said at last "You've risked an awful lot to keep Harry safe, I know."

Tam glanced over at her, but she got the impression that he wasn't really seeing her at all. "Why would you assume it was for his sake? You know nothing of the doings of the Fae. I have stood between the two wide open maws of Summer and Winter for a long time; there is much that you do not understand."

Murphy got the sense that he was being intentionally difficult. "It still benefits him." she said cautiously.

She _hoped_.

Tam grimaced, running a hand through his hair. "Hopefully." he muttered. Then, as if to himself: "Or I have just signed his death warrant."

When they cleared the next hedge Murphy saw a wide, sandy space, punctuated with other greyish areas that she assumed were padded. She spotted Harry and Muirgen in the far left corner holding staves. Then there came a flash of red light, and she watched it crash into Muirgen's thin white staff, crackling like lightning. _Ow._ Muirgen waved.

Something in Tam's face eased. "Come" he waved Murphy over to the closest patch of sand "You, Lady Murphy, will not benefit from such instruction."

And didn't she know it?

She still paused though. She wasn't sure that she was entirely happy about the idea of Tam with a sharp object.

Tam grinned, as if reading her mind.

* * *

"No. No. No. _No_!" Muirgen let out an exasperated sigh. "You hold the staff like _this_." she readjusted Harry's grip while he looked at her, bemused.

Muirgen tugged at her hair. "Do you not _understand_ child? I cannot make you understand, I…" She took a deep breath "...this is _real_ , this is not a game. There is someone out there, with no little power over death, that _wants to kill you_. I do not even know _why._ And, unless I am extraordinarily lucky, my husband has just provoked a _war._ Not some skirmish such as you saw earlier, but a real war. I can get you back home, but I cannot do it now _,_ and I need to keep you alive until then."

Harry frowned to himself, not quite sure what to say. It wasn't like he could try any harder after all… she was expecting him to do these things... things that he _knew_ seventh years wouldn't be expected to know about, let alone _do._ And fine, maybe he _had_ learned the "NEWT level" patronus charm, and maybe this was just as, or maybe _more_ , important, but it didn't mean he could just magically do something simply because he _had to._ The idea was completely mad.

Then something occurred to him. "Why not now? Not that I'm being impatient..." he hurried to add. There was no harm in being polite, especially when he was still unsure about these people.

Muirgen surprised him by giving him a look that he usually only saw from McGonagall when he managed to do something particularly unusual, or say something clever in Transfiguration. The ' _Good question_ , _Potter'_ was in her eyes. "Because the ritual to return you to your place is... difficult. I am a witch of no small skill and experience, and even I would not risk such magic at any time other than All Hallow's Eve. There are also..." she paused "...things that must be set in order beforehand."

Harry cocked his head. Three years of living in the wizarding world had left him better acquainted with bread-crumb trails and ominous hints than he would have liked. From her slightly overwhelmed look he had the feeling that Muirgen was minimizing both the number and scale of the things that had to be 'set in order.'

Muirgen then closed her eyes, framed her face with her hands "Alright. Alright." she took a deep breath "The movement _matters_. This…" she brought her arms in front of her face as if shielding herself from a blow or spray "...is an automatic gesture of warding. This…" she extended her hand, palm facing him "...is a 'stopping motion'. There are dozens of such movements that you do not even think about, but your magic understands such things. If your body is not in agreement with your mind, and your mind is not in agreement with your magic, _of course_ you will have to work harder!"

She sighed then, and picked up her staff. "Again."

Harry shrugged and planted his feet, readying for her next attack.

* * *

Murphy was now fully convinced of what she'd begun to suspect from the battle with the Necromancer: fighting with a sword was _hard_. She was in good shape, and quick on her feet from aikido, but it was still _really, really_ _hard_. Tam had 'killed her' twice within the last five minutes. The clang of metal against metal from the other areas of the practice grounds wasn't really doing much for her nerves either. But the main thing was that swords, even "blunt" ones, _hurt_. She wasn't sure why she'd had to graduate from sticks to large, painful pieces of metal so quickly, but she just decided to attribute it (as she was beginning to attribute everything) to the fact that Tam was crazy.

Tam dropped his "blunt" ('blunt,' she had discovered, was a matter of opinion) to the nearby bench and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't even _sweating_. She knew it didn't make any sense, but that seemed like the most unfair thing about this _deeply_ unfair day. Had she asked for some hardboiled, high fantasy, zombie mashup? No she had _not_. Had she asked for Harry (Dresden) to fall of the face of the friggin' earth and leave her with some underage Macguffin of a wizard? No she had _not._ Had she...

Tam eyed her grinding her sword into the dirt. "You did much better than I expected Lady Murphy. You have had some training."

"Not with actual _swords_." Murphy said sourly as Tam appeared to pour himself a glass of _wine_ from the pitcher that sat on the bench. _Wine_. What was it 3 o'clock? She grimaced. It felt like it should be later.

Tam shrugged. "Makes no difference. You are not using a sword. You are using your body. The sword is just…" he waved a hand, as if trying to think of the right word "...decoration. Very dangerous decoration."

"Yeah. Well. It _is_ dangerous. I've learned that." she pulled the shoulder of her now very pathetically sweaty blouse aside to peer at the newly-formed bruise there.

Bruises she'd had before. Bruises were part of sparring, she'd learned to deal with them a long time ago. Bruises were a sign that you were working hard. Everything else… she pinned Tam with her gaze.

All he did was smile. "I suppose my reprieve is over?"

Tam then eyed the inside of his cup, speaking without looking up. "I am glad of your aid Lady Murphy. You could have left and you did not."

Murphy was beginning to understand Dresden's views on fairies. She sat down, sweaty hair flopping onto her forehead. " _No_. I couldn't have. And it's not like you need my fabulous fencing skills either. So don't pretend you do."

"No. Not for that." Tam allowed, with an odd, friendly smile. "But Harry trusts you, as I would not have him trust me. It is good for him to have someone in this strange place."

Murphy frowned at that. She wasn't sure Harry really _did_ trust her, except maybe when compared to everyone else. "I still don't trust you."

Tam dipped his head, still affable. "And well I know it. As I said, I would not have it otherwise."

"Why help him?" Murphy asked, deciding to push it, since he no longer looked like he was in a murderous rage. "Why start a war over one boy that you don't know? Or would you have done it anyway?"

Tam looked at her, now bemused. "Do you think so little of me? That I would risk the lives of my own men out of mere boredom?"

Murphy considered that for a moment - she wouldn't have put it way, and the fact that he _thought_ to put it way did seem to indicate that it was a possibility - then shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know you."

She continued to stare him down for a minute or so, then flopped on the bench beside him.

Tam tossed the rest of his wine into a nearby bush, continuing to fiddle with the cup, and said nothing at first. "He... reminds my wife of her son."

"Oh." Murphy wasn't sure whether she was expected to say anything. "What happened to him?"

Tam glanced to her, his face blank. "He died. As mortals tend to do."

Murphy's mouth formed a small "O." This was… an odd conversation. Though she wondered why he would _bother_ to manipulate her. There wasn't a great deal she could do either way. If she could get more information though... She still had the feeling she was being led away from the main point, whatever the main point actually _was... But..._ "She was… er... married before she met you?" she finally asked.

Tam shook his head. "Nay, lady. He was my son too… only… I had forgotten you are not accustomed to our ways. When the time came for him to choose, he chose humanity (and then promptly got himself killed.) It seems… unjust for me to claim him if he did not want to be claimed." he shook the cup out and began tossing it up and down.

"I'm sorry." Murphy replied. She was, for whatever _that_ was worth.

"You are not the one with the power over life and death." Tam shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

Murphy took that as a peace offering, whether it was or not. "How did…" she had wanted to ask about Mab (since being able to free yourself from fairy influence seemed like a good skill to have) and what Titania had to do with it, when she suddenly wondered whether she should be asking for details when fairies, or at least this fairy, seemed to have centuries worth of emotional landmines. And wasn't _that_ an odd thought? Dresden had made them sound like… like they were made out of cardboard. Really shiny cardboard admittedly, but cardboard.

Tam seemed to think he knew where she was going anyway: "How did I come to be with Muirgen? Now that…" he paused "...is not a story I think you'd appreciate."

"Now I'm intrigued." Murphy said dryly, and, she realized, against her better judgement, she truly _was_. She'd never been much for gossip, but honestly, how often did you have a chance to talk to someone who'd actually lived for multiple _centuries?_

Tam wrinkled his nose. "Another time perhaps."

"How did your son die?" Murphy asked.

Tam smiled mirthlessly. "Well you learn quickly don't you?" He shot her a look which made her wonder if he was deciding whether or not to humor her. "I had not long been in Mab's service..."

This immediately raised a red flag for Murphy. "Wait. How long is 'not long' for someone like you?"

"Someone like me." Tam's face flickered with amusement. "Hmm. A few centuries perhaps? I was never noted for my time-telling ability; I was always late to vespers. You wished to know of Muirgen, not my youth." "And I have no desire to tell of it." he added darkly.

 _Vespers_? Murphy mouthed to herself. She knew she should be rolling with these punches better. The fact that he had lived during a time when evening prayers and monks were a part of daily life should really not have been her major concern.

Tam continued: "As I said, I had not served her for long, and my time as her Knight had been even shorter. I was… you do not know Mab. There were a lot of women, human women. They were… warmer than Mab." He gave another self-deprecating shrug.

Murphy grinned then. No matter what he said, the movement still felt entirely out of place in the current situation. But… she found she was still grinning. "You were a man slut weren't you? Sorry. Fairy slut."

While she was speaking Tam had eyed her like someone who is waiting for his dog to stop barking at an inanimate object. Then he agreed: "I slept my way through Europe, if that's what you mean. And by the time I'd start over, all of them were dead and there was fresh crop, ripe for the plucking. I never… forced a woman - I never needed to, though…" he frowned "...now that I think about it I suppose we do not do such things out of need. I had surrendered much of my own will to Mab though and would not have done that to anyone for anything - but... the lines were drawn in different places then. You understand?"

"Not really?" Murphy said. And why would he care what she thought about him anyway?

Tam sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, shifting as if he couldn't find a place to get comfortable. "Muirgen came to me. Her brother's lands were 'nearby' my own, as near as any mortal lands can come to what you call the Nevernever at least. At that time most wizards did not know how to walk the paths of Faerie. Muirgen came to me and essentially…" he paused again, chancing another look at Murphy "...offered herself in exchange for the information. I was in possession of even fewer scruples then than I have now. So…" he shrugged, extending his hands in mock helplessness "Here we are."

"I think you're skipping something." Murphy's eyes widened suddenly. _Vespers_. Pre-birth-control. "You got her pregnant didn't you?"

"Well. Eventually." Tam gave her another of those entirely-too-innocent grins. "But no. Our first deal would not have allowed for that."

" _First_ deal?" Murphy didn't have any idea how that kind of magic worked, but she was beginning to dislike the sound of this. She now understood why he'd been so cagey. Well, no, honestly, she didn't. She could understand why someone would be cagey, but not _him_. Amoral didn't really seem the right term to describe him, and crazy didn't seem quite right either, mostly because of his bouts of sanity...

Tam's smile softened, he seemed lost in memory "The second was not exactly a real deal, I suppose. I taught her a sleeping charm. Eventually we dispensed with even pretending."

He said nothing for a long while.

Murphy sighed, she wasn't really in the mood to drag it out of him if he didn't want to tell. It probably wasn't important in their current situation.

"When I entered Mab's service…" Tam startled, as if he'd forgotten something "I was fully human then, I should say. I had forgotten that you could not know: by tradition it is a mortal that bears Winter's mantle."

"Why?" Murphy asked. _Dammit_ there was so much she didn't _know!_

Tam raised an eyebrow. "Would you give a potential rival such power if you were Mab?" he continued "And before you ask, no, I do not know who my actual father was, but given Titania's relative friendliness towards me I believe that he may have been a member of her court. At any rate, I am the only one I know of that extracted a promise from Mab in exchange for my service." he smiled "...and of course she would be careful not to do so now."

"Why?"

Tam's eyes _twinkled._ "She swore that she would never order one of my blood to be harmed, or knowingly allow them to become entangled in the affairs of the Fae. It was my condition."

"And?" Murphy said impatiently.

Tam shrugged. "She broke her word, as I think I've said before. I was… unwise in my pursuit of Muirgen. As you must have guessed."

Murphy raised her eyebrows. " _No_."

Tam only seemed amused by her cheek. "I knew that if Mab knew of her, she would not be kind. Mab never cared about the others but... Muirgen was different. So I had not visited Muirgen for a couple of months, and when I went to her brother's court she was gone. I had to use several glamours to discover that she had run to her cousin's in Orkney."

"And?" Murphy said when it became apparent that he wasn't going to continue.

Tam actually chuckled. "I am sorry. Time was when a flight across winter seas to a distant kinswoman would not need explaining. That was how I found out she was pregnant with Mordred. She was… not pleased with me." He rubbed his jaw.

Murphy's jaw dropped. "Mordred." she said flatly.

Tam's face went blank. "Why yes acushla, of course she gave him a Saxon name. I was fair and she was dark. It was sensible."

"Mordred." Murphy said again.

Tam's innocent look evaporated and he laughed, long and deep. "The look on your face." he made as if to wipe tears from the corner of his eyes "Aye. You have the right of it Lady." His face fell. "And now you know how he died, that much is true in the stories."

It took him a moment, but he finally seemed to remember himself. "Anyhow. Mab tried to kill her, and by extension Mordred, and so broke her word to me, releasing me from my oath."

"I have the feeling that Mab doesn't often fail in her attempts to kill people." Murphy said dryly.

Tam nodded. "True. Yet Muirgen has always been formidable… and I have the feeling that she chose the time, place and manner of their engagement."

Murphy was beginning to be irritated with herself. Hadn't she meant to ask about zombie armies, or Bob, or _something_ useful? But what she said was: "She did it on _purpose_?"

Tam slid off the bench and rested his head on the seat. "Probably. She… I did not leave her with much choice I think." he admitted.

Murphy quirked an eyebrow, catching a younger elf-man running across the practice grounds through the corner of her eye. _Damn_ they were fast. It was enough to give a human an inferiority complex.

"Do you not know what they called her?" He leaned forward, something vaguely predatory in his eyes "She was born Morgause. But they came to call her Morgan le Fay. Morgan the fairy. That was the name she gave me when we met. Half the realm knew she was entangled with the Fae, and the other half thought Mordred had been sired by her brother. It was no life for her." He pulled back, straightening. "Speaking of which. I wouldn't mention those stories to my wife. Time doesn't heal wounded pride." He continued in a musing tone: "I had to convince her not to kill that Bradley woman. It's usually the other way around."

Murphy nodded, numb. While Tam was clearly the King of Bullshit… he might be… what if he _was_ telling the truth?

Well, actually, it might not affect anything at all. She found the notion oddly cheering.

Muirgen had walked over by then, and Harry trailed after her looking sweaty and utterly demoralized. Harry, in turn, looked over at Murphy, who was... well, kind of a mess, she reminded him a bit of Professor Sprout at the moment. She looked exhausted, confused, but she looked much happier at having had someone to pummel...

Muirgen stood on her toes and kissed Tam's cheek. "Hello my love, Titania sent Robin to us, he wants to speak with you."

Tam frowned. "When? Where is he now?"

Muirgen smiled guilelessly. "Speaking with Nicnevin. He said he was in no hurry."

Tam raised his eyebrows, likely aware that Muirgen had decided to let him blow off some steam before talking to any other representatives of any supernatural superpowers. It was probably for the best.

Tam shrugged. "Come then, let's go find him. I ween Nicnevin was in the armory?"

"No need, I am already found." came a voice from behind them.

Murphy whirled around to see the ogre-woman from before and a small, red-cheeked man dressed in greens and browns that were cut in such a way - Murphy realized, with somewhat inexplicable horror - that he reminded her of a Keebler elf. He gave a little half-bow to Muirgen, who dipped her head.

"Well met Robin." Tam turned to grasp the little man's arm "This is Lady Murphy. A Free Knight. Lady Murphy this is Robin Goodfellow. Emissary and right arm of the gracious Queen Titania until such time as the new Summer Knight gets his head on straight." he said, shooting Goodfellow a teasing grin.

"You're a knave and a fool." Goodfellow grumbled good-naturedly.

"Oh come now. You just don't like being outdone." Tam said, his tone still annoyingly cheery. He spoke, as an aside, to Murphy: "Puck is a bit touchy about the new Summer Knight. He's a bit…"

"He's an idiot." Goodfellow spit out.

"...I was going to say inexperienced, after all you do have seven odd centuries on the boy Puck." Tam's voice took on a needling, teasing tone "Shame Titania didn't have time to interview someone with a few more years under his belt." He turned to Murphy, as if to explain "There was this terrible mess last year. Aurora, that's the former Summer Lady, tried to destroy the world. It was all quite irregular." He turned his smirk back on Goodfellow: "Speaking of, how is your lovely new Lady?"

" _In good health._ " Goodfellow bit out, but extended his hand towards Murphy in a vaguely friendly, or at least not overtly aggressive, way.

Murphy almost squeaked, but grasped his arm instead. "Ah. Well met." she fumbled. For the first time that day she felt like an actual idiot. Well met? Well _met_? she shook her head.

"Hail, Lady Knight." Goodfellow replied, then gave her a hearty grin, and shot over her head: "You've strange taste in companions Tam."

"Now, don't say such things about yourself Puck." Tam said, willfully oblivious. "Oh, and this is Harry, her ward."

Everyone but Nicnevin, including Goodfellow, raised their eyebrows. Harry had the feeling that she would need to be _dying_ before she changed her expression of general dissatisfaction. It reminded him, he almost laughed, of Petunia. It was... oddly homey. He must be going mad. Yes, that was it. Madness was the only possible explanation.

"You two seem to know each other well for having been on opposite sides of the… uh… Summer/Winter thing?" Murphy asked, when Goodfellow went back to chatting up Nicnevin. Also, _what the hell,_ he was _chatting up_ Nicnevin... but who was she to judge?

"Oh that?" Tam waved a hand "We go back a ways. Things are always much more pleasant if you're on speaking terms with your enemies. We'll all have a nice dinner, break out the Albarino, all of us'll get drunk, with the possible exception of Harry, alright..." Tam corrected on seeing Murphy's face "...with the _definite_ exception of Harry... and I'll send him back to my dear ally Titania with a message to mind her own bloody business for once."

Murphy blinked. "You're _allies_?"

Tam shrugged. "Well, not as such. But she's certainly more friendly with me than she is with Mab, and she sides with me when it comes to blows, as it often does. She does so with all the wyldfae when it suits her, that's one thing she's better at than Mab. It is the only reason she was able to survive Winter's ascent. And I'll wager it's the only way she'll be able to survive her new Lady. Maeve would eat the poor girl for breakfast. Literally." Tam looked distinctly nauseated for a moment and then shivered.

"So…ah… " Murphy asked Tam quietly as they continued to move back to the house. "Why exactly is he _here_?"

"Oh I don't know." Tam replied, then called over to Goodfellow, who was still deep in conversation Nicnevin "Why _are_ you here Puck?"

Goodfellow glanced at Murphy and Harry.

Tam frowned, waved a hand. Harry wondered if he could pull something like that off. Probably not. He'd just look like Malfoy.

"They are party to all our counsels friend, speak what you will." Tam said, when Goodfellow still said nothing.

"I do not think that wise." Goodfellow said at last.

Tam gave him a mischievous look. "...and you are so well known for your wisdom. And restraint." he added gravely.

Goodfellow's laugh had a nervous tinge to it, but he went ahead: "Titania… fears that you will not be able to withstand Mab here at Hautdesert. She offers The Bower as a place of resort."

Murphy could _see_ Tam bristle and risked glancing at Muirgen, who observed the scene with a stony face.

"Because?" Tam prompted.

"She is curious about your... visitor." Goodfellow looked towards Harry "...and would like to meet him."

Tam tilted his head, speaking softly. "...and have I her guarantee of free and immediate egress from her domain for myself and any under my protection when we desire it?"

Goodfellow looked from side to side. "You know it is not in my power to promise such a thing."

Tam continued to watch him for a moment. "No. Of course it is not. Summer has always been so. Warm words and a poisoned knife."

Muirgen stepped forward, suddenly breaking her silence: "We know of Mab's interest, but what does Titania want with him?"

Goodfellow swallowed, and looked up at her. "Lady Muirgen, she has not taken the loss of her daughter easily. I do not think she would harm a child, but he is a link to the wizard Dresden…"

That was it. Harry couldn't help it. "The _child_ is standing right, _bloody, HERE_!" he shouted. "I have _ears_ you know."

Everyone stopped moving and turned to him for a moment, blinked, then "...and very nice ears they are too." Goodfellow supplied.

Harry threw his hands in the air and slumped down onto the bench as they resumed walking back towards the house.

Muirgen however, after some strange eyebrow-semaphore with Murphy, fell back slowly and finally turned back to where Harry was. She beside the bench (Harry had, at some point, decided to lie on it lengthwise) silently for some time. Tam and Goodfellow (and, as a result, everyone else) had stopped moving and were making wide, wild gestures at each other. _Lovely._

"You are not used to people making decisions for you." Muirgen said.

Harry sat up. "No. That's exactly it. Everyone's _always_ making decisions for me. Always."

Muirgen tilted her head, considering, stalling, if she was being honest with herself. "Always is a fragile word. All you need is one exception."

"Fine." Harry flopped back down. " _Almost_ always." Though honestly, he was trying and he still couldn't think of any exceptions, so perhaps it _was_ 'always.' That seemed like a conversational dead end though, so he decided not to go there.

Muirgen sighed. "I spoke the truth Harry. I _will_ send you back on All Hallow's. But you must be kept safe until then, and you have no experience in these matters. Do not be angry over your own ignorance." she chided, when she turned to see the sullen look on his face. "Ignorance is our natural state, and it is foolish to bemoan that."

"If I'm ignorant, then _teach me_." Harry growled.

"I'm _trying_ bairnie." Muirgen said, exasperated "But I cannot do it all at once. You must trust someone in the meantime. Trust Lady Murphy if you do not trust me."

" _Mhmm_." was all Harry said.

Tam had stopped moving. It made Muirgen uneasy. She couldn't hear them of course, though she could imagine the conversation, but he had stepped back, straightened into some, calm, cold, otherworldly creature, wearing the skin he wore when he was being Lord of Hautdesert, the man, _fairy -_ _never forget_ \- who had destroyed two Winter Knights in quick succession. He was, she knew, capable of diplomacy, capable of ignoring his own emotions or channeling them. Unless... she pushed the thought away.

Goodfellow threw up his hands and stalked off.

"...and now my husband has gone and put us between the upper and nether millstones." Muirgen sighed.

"What?" Harry said, sitting up again, looking somewhat bleary. He _ought_ to have gone to bed instead of dueling, but, all things considered, she was thankful he was driven. It might help him survive.

"Having one Queen preparing for war evidently wasn't enough for him." Muirgen said, nose twitching in annoyance.

* * *

 _ **Author's note**_ : I know this chapter was... all over the place. Please bear with me. I've sort of... accidentally taken the scenic route, but I'm not lost. I know where everything's going, it's just taking me a while to get there.

I really do appreciate everyone's reviews and thoughts on this. For one thing, it's just nice to talk about fiction generally and hear what other people think, and for another, I haven't read the HP books in years and I've only read the first few of the Dresden Files, so everyone's ideas and thoughts on 'magical theory' in the two different worlds have been both really helpful and a lot of fun.

Also, I've caught more than a few "anachronisms," e.g. I suddenly remembered, three chapters in, that Dresden's "lab" doesn't _technically_ have a door, and that HP doesn't know about the Unforgiveables until later in 'this year.' ...and some flat-out _stupid_ mistakes, i.e. writing Mulciber for Macnair. Even though I _know_ Buckbeak's assigned executioner was named Macnair, because apparently I turn into an idiot after 8 PM. I _think_ I've removed all references to the foo dog, Mouse, because this story really only relies on _Summer Knight_ and the preceding books.

So, please, please, please drop me a line if you notice anything, because, knowing how my mind works, I'll be brushing my teeth a decade from now and realize that I made some stupid mistake, and by then there will be no point to fixing it, and so it will bother me _for the rest of my life..._ Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating a wee bit, but, really, you'd be doing me a huge favor.


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